Let It Go
by Wild Concerto
Summary: Since her childhood, Céleste de Chagny, Raoul's sister, felt all the pressure of the world on her frail shoulders. When she comes to the Opera Populaire as patroness, a revengeful Opera Ghost uses her as his instrument… But a threat from Persia lays his shadow on them, and they are obliged to form a strange team… Based on ALW with hints of Kay and Leroux.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This phic has been updated on the 30/06/14, so all grammar mistakes have been corrected, details have been modified… If there are any spelling mistakes left, I'm sorry. I'm not English-speaking but French-speaking, and though I manage well in English, I still let a few mistakes here and there… **

**So I'm presenting here my OC, I hope you'll like her! And yes, part of my inspiration****for her comes from Elsa in Frozen. Boy do I love that movie. And Elsa is just… gorgeous, don't you think? ;) And, just to make it easy for the ages… Erik was rescued by Mme Giry when he was 9, and she was 16. He left the Opera wen he was 15 (to go to Persia and everything), then came back when he was about 25-26. He's about thirty-five by now. Céleste is 23-25 years old, Raoul is 21 and Christine 19. I don't really like the idea of Erik being 50-60 so… Here you is mostly based on the 2004 movie (sorry…), may it be for the portrayal of Erik, Christine, Raoul, Mme Giry and Meg, though Erik's disfigurement is 25****th**** anniversary-based, his past Kay-based, and Philippe and the Daroga Leroux-based. **

**Disclaimer (goes on for all the other chapters): I do not own anything coming from Andrew Lloyd Webber's **_**Phantom of the Opera**_**, nor Susan Kay's **_**Phantom**_**, nor Disney's **_**Frozen**_**. Anything coming from Leroux's **_**Fantôme de l'Opéra**_** belongs to the public domain. Coverart by Skylilyart from Deviantart. **

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><p><em>I freeze, I freeze, and nothing dwells <em>

_In me but snow and icicles. _

_For pity's sake, give your advice,_

_To melt this snow and thaw this ice. _

_I'll drink down flames; but so if be_

_Nothing but love can supple me,_

_I'll rather keep this frost and snow_

_Than to be thaw'd or heated so. _

_- The Frozen Heart, _Robert Herrick

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

In his bare hand, Erik was clutching the engagement ring against his heart. It was all that was left from _her_. All the music that she used to create in his mind, so he could give birth to it with a bit of ink on paper, was gone too.

_It's over, now, the music of the night._

That sentence was just so true. Everything in him was empty. It was even worse than the time where he was mistreated by the gypsies, whipped just for the pleasure of hearing his screams, and seeing the twist of pain which appeared of his deformed face. It was even worse than when he had to please the Shah's mother by killing innocent people. At all these times, he felt so empty. It was like if his soul was gone. It was a terrible feeling. His soul was the only thing that actually convinced him that he wasn't just the monster that the woman who was apparently his mother had shown him once, in the mirror. And at all these times, with the gypsies, at the Shah's palace, he had felt like a beast or a monster, just good to be put on display and to amuse the gallery with cruelty. Really, it was nothing else that that.

But now, right now, the woman he loved was gone. Her voice, so ethereal, was gone also. And now, he just felt more cursed than ever. No one would ever love him. He was born to be alone forever. Maybe he wasn't even a man, like he always tried to convince himself. Maybe he was just a beast, after all. No, not even that. A _thing_.

Yes, Christine was already quite frightened when she saw her face, her damned curiosity pushing her to unmask him. It was absolutely ridiculous from him to think such a thing, but he had hoped that she would have accepted it. Ignorant fool. _He_ was the ignorant fool. After that came Joseph Buquet. That man always drove him crazy. Drunk, doing… stuff with not very prude ballerinas, terrifying the others and sometimes trying to abuse them when he was quite drunk, causing so much trouble to Antoinette Giry, and especially, too curious for his own sake. That man deserved to die. That was all.

Then Piangi… Well, he was sort of in the way. At first, Erik only wanted to knock him out for a while, just to take his place for the time that he needed it. Everything was just so perfect. The notes of the opera were all well in their place, the casting went just as he expected it to be, and now, he was going to seduce Christine for good, and in the perfect context. Yes, he saw it all with his artistic eye.

But let's just say that for Piangi, instead of knocking him off, he had hit the nape of the neck, breaking it and making him die. That was an accident. The poor man didn't really disserve to finish up like that. Especially that while he was running up with Christine, he could hear La Carlotta sobbing in the most insupportable way.

Talking about those murders… He could hear the angry mob coming up his way, towards his lair. For a moment, he wanted to stay there, and let all those people rip him into pieces. A quick death and all that pain was over. Then he looked around him. He looked at the Punjab lasso who had served to almost kill the fop a few minutes earlier. Then the Christine dummy caught his eye. Really, was he going to finish up like that, that miserably, after all he had been through?

No. He had to make that fop pay for what he did. After that, he could die in peace. He felt inside him that Erik Destler, the man who loved Christine Daaé, who was her angel of music, who wanted simply to be treated like a normal person, was gone. The Phantom of the Opera remained alone. And he wasn't done with his reign of terror.

With an evil smile, he finally got up, still clutching Christine's ring in his hand. With the other, he handled a lever which closed hermetically his lair with a special metal door. Lifting another lever, he caused the water in the underground of the Opera Populaire to gain level. The mob was going to be obliged to go back, or to get drowned.

Yes, the Opera Populaire hadn't heard the last word of him. That was for sure.

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><p>"We are so very grateful of all your help, Mademoiselle de Chagny. Your students, I am sure, will regret you very much."<p>

Céleste de Chagny did a quick bow at the mother superior, with a little smile. Yes, she had actually enjoyed teaching for a year in that school, learning probably as much as her students did, though not quite in the same way. It had been a great experience, learning from the kindness and at the same time of the severity of the nuns. But at the same time, she was tired of wearing all those black, grey and brown dresses. She was in for a little more color, in the next few months…

"With all this, Mademoiselle, have you thought of your vocation?"

Céleste lifted her blonde head, taken aback by the mother superior's question. Yes, she had enjoyed her time passed here. But to become a nun was a different thing. She admired those women, who had the courage and grace to give entirely their lives to God and to the instruction of those girls. But for her, do that for the rest of her entire life? It was a sacrifice she wasn't willing to make. She had accepted, with her brother Philippe's pressure, to teach in that school. Their old aunt, in her will, had established Céleste as her only heiress, at the condition she would work for the convent as a teacher. A beautiful dowry and a great marriage were awaiting her if she accepted. And though she felt an inner rebellion which, of course, she didn't show, as usual, she actually took pleasure living with the kind nuns and their students, all so unique in so many ways.

She didn't need to answer. The nun, with a smile, showed that she guessed Céleste's inner thoughts.

"God can call us to stay in the world. And I hope you will do well in everything you do."

Céleste had a little smile.

"Thank you, Mother Marie-Anne."

Later, as the carriage drove through Paris, smoke lifting up in the air caught Céleste's attention. Soon, as she passed in front of the Opera Populaire, she saw that it had partially burned. Gasping, remembering that her younger brother Raoul was a patron there, she promised herself to ask him how all of that had happened.

But she had no idea of the surprise that was awaiting her…

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><p><strong>AN: Yes, this is sort of an alternate ending to POTO. Here, Erik doesn't go to the conclusion that "to love is to let go". For the needs of the story, he actually let Christine go for another reason… You'll see why soon. ;) **


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: One of my biggest phanphic peeves is when the OC is just a cheap copy of Christine, only a better singer and that she fully accepts Erik as he is. I really didn't want to fall in that stereotype while writing **_**Let It Go**_**… So conclusion, Céleste is Christine's total opposite. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

As the carriage stopped in front of the Chagny's house, Céleste could already feel that her home was in an uproar. And soon, when a maid opened, bowing in the most nervous way, with nobody else, and not even her brothers were there to greet her; she had to know what on Earth was going on. After an absence of a year, she felt like an unwelcomed stranger in her own home. Quickly, she ordered the maid to help unpack her trunk. Lifting her grey skirt up to walk faster, she rushed into the living-room, to meet Philippe, her older brother, looking tensed and tired.

"Céleste," he started with a grin, when he saw her coming in. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there to greet you, but as you can see, the whole house is going crazy."

"Yes, I can see that," answered Céleste coldly. "Tell me, where is Raoul?"

"Um… Raoul is… busy," muttered Philippe, embarrassed.

"Oh… does that have anything to do with the Opera Populaire?" Said Céleste more calmly, hoping that nothing bad had happened. "I saw on my way that part of it had burned."

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><p>Céleste, when she was still in the convent, had heard that Raoul had become patron to the Opera Populaire. A wonderful idea, which even made her want to do the same when she was to be done with her teaching year. She had always loved arts, especially music… though she was never really encouraged to continue, when she was younger, to anything approaching it, to talk in a delicate way.<p>

She even got permission to go to see _Hannibal _with Raoul, though she wasn't very pleased with the idea of hearing La Carlotta screeching notes more than singing them. But that evening, they had got a quite pleasant surprise: instead of La Carlotta, a young girl was singing Elissa's part. A girl she knew well, a few years ago: Christine Daaé.

To be perfectly honest, Christine Daaé and Céleste de Chagny had never really been friends. Already, only in appearance, they were total opposites. Christine had brown curls, an ingénue face and pink cheeks which made her look like a porcelain doll, and was sometimes a bit clumsy in her demeanor. Céleste was blonde, so blonde her hair was almost in a shade of silvery white. She had a very pale complexion, fine traits, which could sometimes seem a bit malicious when she smiled. And already, at a very young age, she had that natural grace in her movements that made so many girls envious.

When you got to know them better, even their characters were total opposites. While Christine was very sensitive, calm, cried easily, Céleste was an alert, active and mischievous little girl. While Christine loved the story of Little Lotte and of the Angel of Music, Céleste actually find it quite dull, compared to the much more exciting story of the Snow Queen. While Christine was dreaming of being the princess saved in her tower by a handsome prince, Céleste preferred imagining herself being the heroine who had many adventures, and never needed some prince to get her out of trouble.

It was more appropriate to say that Raoul was the one who was really playing and spending time with Christine. Céleste did follow them, but it was more to stay with Gustave Daaé, who was always present to their little games. Monsieur Daaé was so different from her own father. While her father was always stern and cold, always keeping a certain distance between his daughter and himself, paying a lot more attention at her brothers, Gustave Daaé was always caring, always ready to join in the children's games. He could see that Céleste was a bit apart from the others, and with time, he gained her confidence.

The time that Céleste liked most was when he took his violin and played for them. She was fascinated by all the sound which came out from so small a thing. Then, one day, she told Monsieur Daaé how much she appreciated it when he played. Then, with a smile, he had said those magical words:

"Do you want to learn how to play the violin?"

But all this was so far away. Almost fifteen years later, Céleste had seen Christine sing in _Hannibal_. She was surprised of seeing her there, all grown up into a beautiful young woman. Céleste had become beautiful, too. She actually looked quite like the Snow Queen in Gustave's tales…

Seeing her at the Opera Raoul had chosen to patron was quite a strange coincidence. Actually, she never took the time to know what happened to her after Gustave Daaé died. The violinist was, after all, pretty much her only connection. Though Christine and herself never fought, their relations had always been somehow distant and neutral. So she wasn't happy or displeased of seeing her as the new prima donna… not like Raoul, who looked simply amazed and, right after the representation, rushed towards her dressing room, without Céleste who could only disapprove such an initiative.

She knew her dear brother a bit too well to not realize that he was in love, hypnotized by the voice and the beauty of the siren called Christine Daaé. She hoped that all of this would stay in the state of an idyll, since she couldn't even _imagine _a Chagny doing such a misalliance, and that her firm Christian morality felt nothing but disgust imagining that the Daaé girl could become Raoul's mistress.

Then, back to the convent, she knew nothing else. After all, Raoul and Christine's engagement had been secret, even for Philippe himself.

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><p>Philippe didn't have the time to answer Céleste's question, for Raoul rushed into the room.<p>

"Céleste! I'm so glad you are back!"

Raoul looked like he hadn't sleep for days. His hair was a mess, and purple circles were quite visible on his too pale face. Worried, like every older sister should be, she held Raoul's head in her hands, asking softly: "What happened? What's going on?"

Impatiently, she added:

"I am the lady of this house, and since I arrived, this house is a total mess! Tell me. What happened?"

"Céleste, please, we'll tell you everything." Raoul said finally, with tiredness in his voice. "But please, just sit down."

Céleste laid her grey dress around her as she sat, and crossed her hands on her knees. Exasperated by the awkward silence that followed, while Raoul and Philippe were looking at each other looking totally numb, she asked in a high voice: "Well?"

"You know the Opera Populaire burned last night." started Philippe calmly. "Well, the chandelier crashed down."

"Oh no," said Céleste, truly sorry. "And I suppose the managers have asked from Raoul an enormous sum…"

"No, that's not the problem." continued Philippe. "Not at all, believe me. A madman did all this. And you remember Christine Daaé? Your childhood friend, which you saw several months ago in _Hannibal_? The madman kidnapped her."

"Is… is she alright?" asked Céleste, feeling truly worried, though Christine had never really been her friend.

"Yes, she's fine. Raoul went to save her." Then, seeing Céleste's puzzled expression, he added: "They… They're engaged, Céleste."

Mlle de Chagny gasped, and looked at her brothers in the most incredulous way. This couldn't be… It couldn't be…

Then, finally, she got up, and said firmly, in a tone that permitted no objections:

"I want to see Mademoiselle Daaé. Now."

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><p><strong>Answers to reviews:<strong>

**Anonymous: **Thank you so much for following! And I do hope I will not disappoint you… or anybody else!


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Seriously, it was a bold move from Raoul to marry Christine. After all, being a singer or a dancer back then didn't have the prestige it has today. Christine wasn't at all considered like some sort of nineteenth-century Grace Kelly! They were pretty much considered like prostitutes, since they were popular mistresses among noblemen… Just think of Philippe with La Sorelli, from the Leroux book. He loved her, but he couldn't marry her because of the proprieties. Raoul did dare. So the next one who dares to doubt about Raoul's love for Christine is um… going to regret it. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Immediately, Céleste rose on her feet, not even waiting for her brothers' answer to her request, or, to be a bit more precise, to her command. Too many things were shaking up in her hand. Raoul was such a sentimental child. Yes, he could claim as much as he wanted that he was twenty-one, that he was of age, and everything that came with it, it didn't matter to her. It had been like that since his childhood. Raoul lived in a sort of idealistic world coming straight from fairytales, a world that, a few years ago, he used to share with Christine. In those bit-too-marvelous adventures, Céleste never followed them: she preferred a world full of dangers and suspense. And even that was shattered from her.

Philippe, who was calmer, was the first to speak.

"Céleste, please, don't be too harsh on Christine and Raoul. They had a very hard time yesterday and…"

"Yes, all of that is very well, Philippe. But I can't believe that you accept that your brother, _our _brother, will marry the daughter of a violinist who died in misery, a… a chorus girl who was lucky enough to become a prima donna for a while!"

"Céleste, I…" Raoul tried to plead.

"Enough. I need to see Christine with my own eyes. If she is to be a member of my family, then I think I should get to meet her very soon." Celeste said coldly and abruptly.

Without further ado, she got out of the living room and stopped a maid who was dusting in the corridor.

"Tell me, Annette, where is Mademoiselle Daaé's room?"

Seeing the bad mood and the impatience of her mistress, the poor maid had no choice but to answer, even when she saw the defeated face of Raoul and Philippe almost pleading her not to tell, though that was absolutely impossible.

"I will take you to her, Mademoiselle."

While they were all heading towards the room who was given for Christine, Céleste couldn't help of thinking of the past, almost fifteen years ago, though it was all moments she preferred to forget for good… or maybe not, since it hadn't been a day where she didn't feel a bit of sorrow about what happened then.

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><p>Gustave Daaé was an amazing violin teacher, but, most important of all, Céleste showed a real talent in music. She was so passionate about it, and showed so much emotion when she played. Sometimes, she even played for Christine and Raoul, and they were amazed by her. They were sometimes ready to admit that "she played as well as Daddy Daaé, but at the same time, no", which made Gustave laugh until he was almost crying, though the children didn't really know why.<p>

Sometimes, M. Daaé even made the children sing. Christine and Raoul went very well together. They were soft, gentle, calming and emotional when they sang. Céleste's voice was different. It was vulnerable and so strong at the same time, mature though she was only ten back then. And sometimes, Gustave would talk a bit to Céleste about the possibility that she could have a music career, which made the little de Chagny dream in color, and enthusiast enough to talk about it to her parents.

But the Comte and Comtesse de Chagny came from the old school. It was a good solid fact. Simply horrified that their little girl could think of such a dishonorable thing, they decided that their daughter would cut all bonds with Gustave and Christine Daaé, though they still let Raoul go and play with the girl. That didn't have any risks, compared to Céleste.

The little de Chagny cried for hours when the sentence fell upon her. And she cried even more, the following day, when Raoul got to go and see Christine and Gustave while she had to stay at home. The parents used the reason that "she had to start her education". And it started in quite a hard way.

Soon, it was only lessons going on and on: dancing, the knowledge of all good manners at home and in the world, Latin, Greek, history, literature, and, the most important of all, the pride of being a Chagny, a noble family whose origins went as far as the 10th century. With the years, the mischievous little girl was so strongly tamed that an elegant, graceful, but cold and sometimes disdainful young lady took her place. But, deep inside, each night, Céleste would murmur a silent prayer for M. Daaé, wishing that one day, the violin lessons would continue. But one day, when she learned that Gustave had passed away, her whole inside world was shattered, and she resigned to be the perfect young lady, all graceful and posed, with the only ambition to make a great and rich marriage. But even then, she couldn't forget the last time she had touched the cold strings of the violin, which became so warm when she was playing on them, like if she was resurrecting the strings by the music that she produced.

M. de Chagny died when Céleste was only sixteen, followed about a year later by his wife. Since that day, Philippe, who was by ten years Raoul and Céleste's eldest, was now in charge of all the Chagny estate, a job that he managed quite well. Meanwhile, Céleste was out in the world, going to balls and other events, much admired, sometimes asked in marriage, but none of the young men who presented themselves were worthy enough for Céleste. Well, that was what Philippe was saying. Then, an old aunt related to them on their mother's side died, leaving to Céleste all her fortune (which was quite considerable) at the condition that she would teach for a year in a convent.

Pushed by Philippe, though she was quite reticent at the beginning, Céleste actually appreciated very much her year. The nuns and most especially the girls had a gift of making her smile and to be more herself. But there were moments that lasted for too short of a time. They even made her sing in the choir, and the nun taking care of it even told her she had a beautiful voice. What she didn't tell her (so she wouldn't make her linger in vanity, of course), is that she even thought it was an exceptional gift that should have been developed. But Céleste was no more than a caged bird. A bird caged in a golden prison, where it could have anything it wanted: everything, except the privilege to fly in the sky with the other birds.

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><p>Without even knocking, Céleste entered Christine's room, followed closely by Raoul and Philippe, worried of how the situation was turning out. Thankfully, the young Swedish girl was in a chair, all dressed and alone. Lifting up her head after a gasp of surprise, a little shy smile appeared on her lips when she saw Céleste come in.<p>

"Céleste! It has been so long! How are you?" She immediately got up and walked towards Mlle de Chagny, but soon, was stopped by her cold looks.

"Mademoiselle Daaé," started Céleste quite formerly. "I'm happy to see that you are fine and in good health."

Christine looked on the ground, a bit embarrassed in front of Céleste, feeling that she wasn't too welcomed in the Chagny's house for what was of the lady of the house. But soon, Raoul, seeing how humiliated his fiancée was, stood up.

"That's enough, Céleste."

As expressionless as she was before, Mlle de Chagny turned towards her brother.

"Anything else to say?"

"Not here," hissed Raoul, taking his sister by the arm, leaving behind them a confused Christine who was quite on the border-line to cry, and a Philippe who didn't know if he had to stay in the room to keep her company or just leave her alone.

It took about half an hour for Raoul to tell everything to Céleste, everything about the mystery of the Phantom of the Opera. She was listening to every detail, paying very close attention to them. When he was finally finished, he said:

"You can now understand why Christine needs me, Céleste. And I need her too. I love her."

Céleste shook her head, unable to keep a sarcastic smirk.

"Well, your little Lotte has played her game well. Innocence is such a clever trap to get what you want, isn't it? She makes you believe you are the dashing prince who's going to save the poor damsel in distress who is actually quite conscious of what she is doing and what is going to happen."

"What do you mean, Céleste?" Raoul's tense voice answered.

"I don't think I have much to add, Raoul. Marry Christine if that pleases you. I won't have anything to say in the whole chapter anyway. I will pray for you so you will be happy with her, dear brother. You can do whatever you want, anyway. Not like some people."

Without further ado, Céleste got out of the room.

Her last words to Raoul just reflected all the bitterness that she felt. Life was unfair, and the worst thing of all of this was that she couldn't change anything about it. Fifteen years ago, her parents shattered her dream which, even today, seemed quite innocent. Now, Raoul was going to marry a Swedish girl, the daughter of some poor violinist, who was nothing more than a chorus girl who had her few months of glory, and was involved in an affair with some madman. Well, especially with that last element, Céleste wasn't even sure that Christine Daaé's reputation was entirely pure.

At the same time, even if it was really strange and sort of stupid of her, she felt her heart tightened at the idea of that pitiful creature of darkness, now left alone in the prison the world, at some point, unknowingly built for him, and couldn't help thinking that the way Raoul, and especially Christine had treated him was somehow cruel.

Shrugging at her own stupidity, she looked throughout the window of her room. She could see the Opera Populaire, and remarked that a quarter of it was quite burned. Then, seeing the newspaper on her night table, she could see that the front page was just about the fire which occurred just the night before.

Reading it, she just saw a resume of the story Raoul had told her earlier. But a title below caught her attention.

"_The Opera Ghost strikes again: twenty-three people are drowned in the underground lake of the Opera Populaire._"

That was new.

According to the article, the Phantom's lair was closed by heavy metal doors and, mysteriously, the level of the underground lake had risen. The angry mob that was coming towards the lair to tear the Opera Ghost in pieces for the fire and Piangi's death had to go back, but some of them weren't quick enough and got drowned.

It appeared like the reign of the Phantom of the Opera wasn't done yet. It was even stronger than ever.

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><p><strong>Answers to reviews:<strong>

**Mystery-Magician**: Thanks! It's really encouraging, especially that I wasn't quite sure of my shot in the intro…

**Ingelode Wordsmith:** It creates quite a conflict, a Chagny with the Phantom! Just to explain for Philippe, I went on the fact that since it was Raoul who is patron to the Opera Populaire and not himself, and since the engagement Raoul had with Christine was kept secret, Philippe didn't know much of what was going on until his little brother came back with Christine after the Final Lair. So it sort of explains it all. I always thought it was kind of lame that Philippe wasn't in the musical, but I can understand that he can be a bit useless… though he's more important for my story. But I never understood why the Persian/Daroga wasn't in the musical, because he's so awesome! Don't worry, I'll find a way to put him somewhere; you can be sure of it!

For the ages, Céleste did knew Christine when they were children, but since they're kind of opposites in character and that they have like five years separating them, Céleste didn't like her very much… It's not that she hated her, but… you see what I mean? And their actual relations will be much more developed in this chapter. ;)

And thank you VERY MUCH for correcting my little mistakes, I edited the last chapter and I think everything is ok now… XD

Well, thank you for your review, the long answer shows how much it is appreciated!

**newbornphanatic:** Yeah, I wanted Céleste not to be like Christine (her opposite, to be more precise.) I really like women in those gothic-type stories who can take care of themselves and don't have a damsel in distress behavior all the time (Take Christine, for example, or Lucy and Mina in Dracula (the book, not the TV series)). I'll admit it, like Céleste, I never liked Christine, without hating her, of course. To me, that little badass damsel element was always missing in POTO. And here's Céleste. =D


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: So… about the Opera Populaire's fire. It won't be too bad here. Let's say here it has been only partly burned (theater and surroundings), and that the quick reconstruction (from February to late August… about six months, actually) can be explained this way. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

A few months later, a lot of things had changed.

First of all, the Opera Populaire had been rebuilt and reopened. A certain millionaire coming from Prussia and passionate about the supernatural had financed everything. Now, the Opera was back in business, and the hope of a glimpse of the Opera Ghost was for now on a sort of publicity for the theater, which wasn't to displease MM. Firmin and André, who actually didn't receive any notes from the Phantom since the reopening of the Opera. They were hoping that, heartbroken and not wanting to stay in a place charged with too many painful memories, he had fled towards another place, probably out of France since he was still wanted for the murders of Buquet and Piangi.

La Carlotta had left, refusing to stay any longer in the same Opera where her husband had been killed and her own life had been already risked. And, since Christine was absolutely refusing to have any sort of relationship with the Populaire, they had to find another Prima Donna. Fortunately, a young woman from Barcelona, in Spain, Ines Parilla, was given the job. She was a girl more fit for the appearances than for her singing. Yes, she was truly gorgeous, with her cat-like eyes with long lashes, but when she sang, there was simply no soul in it. Well, at least she didn't shriek like La Carlotta… But the managers and the public missed Mademoiselle Daaé, though some men said the show was better for the eyes with la señorita Parilla than with the prude and still childish Christine Daaé.

Secondly (which was pretty much obvious), Raoul married Christine. Both the bride and the groom were radiant that day, and though the entire engagement thing and the soon-to-come wedding had arrived quite abruptly, Philippe was actually quite pleased with his little brother's marriage, though Christine wasn't of his social rank. He had learned to appreciate the young Swedish girl, and even teased her from time to time.

Only Céleste seemed to stay apart from the whole family. Her relations with Christine hadn't got any better, without worsening. Mademoiselle de Chagny was still very polite, but stayed rigid and cold, refusing any warm contact and always talking about quite futile things like the weather, while Christine, at the beginning, had tried very hard to win Céleste's sympathy, at least.

"Raoul," Christine asked one night.

"What is it, my love?"

Christine took a deep breath before continuing. And even then, her soft voice shivered a bit.

"Does Céleste hate me?"

Raoul was shocked at the idea that Christine had been brought to make such a conclusion. Of course, he wasn't going to force his sister to be nice and kind with his wife, but to think that she hated her… Well, to be honest, yes, Céleste probably hated Christine. And Raoul knew a bit too well why. His sister was jealous of him.

It was true that his parents had been a lot more severe with Céleste than with him. While he had the opportunity of marrying his true love, he knew that probably wouldn't be the case with his sister. She would probably wed the man Philippe would choose for her. Raoul was confident that his brother would make sure Céleste would be happy with her husband, but… Still, he could understand how she felt, though he couldn't do much about it anyway. But Christine didn't need to know that.

"Well, just give her some time. Céleste has strong principles, especially on hierarchy, and most of all, she is stubborn. Keep on being kind with her; it's the best thing to do. But, to be honest, I don't think she'll stay here for a very long time."

"What do you mean?"

"Probably my brother will arrange a wedding for her very soon. With what she has received from our aunt after her teaching year, she has one of the richest dowries in Paris, not to say in France. And for Philippe, it is the perfect occasion to make a great alliance with a very good family. A duke as a husband could even be possible. But anyway, I think she'll want a house of her own. Céleste is quite independent, and a lot of sisters don't like having their brothers putting their noses in their things. And with us as brothers, I can understand that we can drive Céleste crazy."

With a teasing grin, he kissed Christine on her forehead, happy to see that after his little joke, he had made her smile again.

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><p>It was a bright end of summer afternoon when Céleste got out of the Chagny's house and headed towards the Champs-Élysées for a little walk. She didn't like staying at home, with Christine and Raoul just chattering around and being ridiculous, while Philippe thought they were actually quite cute. All of this was getting quite on her nerves, and she was just waiting for the day where Christine, tired of her little game, would crack up and Raoul would discover her real nature. But meanwhile, she played her role well. Until now, she had made no mistake, no failure. Could she be truly in love with Raoul? She couldn't believe such a thing, though with time, she realized it was becoming more and more obvious.<p>

While she was lost in her thoughts, her gaze stopped on the Opera Populaire, who had re-opened for two months now. She looked at it, dreamily, and her idea of sponsoring it came back to her. She had always loved the arts, and she hoped that helping the artists could be a way of taking revenge on the fact that she could never be one. She was about to enter the Opera house when she suddenly remembered what had happened there to Christine and Raoul. Her brothers would probably go crazy if they knew she was a patron. And all of that because what had happened to Christine. Christine. Always Christine.

Anyway, it wasn't really safe, especially with the Phantom who was probably still around, and who could maybe take his revenge on Raoul by using her. All of that because of Christine. Always Christine.

"Are you looking for something, Madame?"

Céleste turned around to see a young blonde girl looking at her with a nice smile.

"No… no… not at all. I'm… I'm happy to see that the Opera Populaire is back in business."

"I am also too," answered the girl. Especially that since the fire, we have never heard anything coming from the Opera Ghost."

"Really? Does… Does it mean he's gone, now?"

"Probably. The poor creature must have been heartbroken and couldn't stand staying there. No one has received any notes of him, not even my mother, who was the one who got those most of the time. Oh, by the way, I'm Marguerite Giry."

"Meg Giry? Hurry up, or we'll be late!"

Céleste and Meg turned towards the street, and saw a middle-aged woman dressed in black waiting in a carriage.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, that's my mother waiting for me." said Meg quickly. "Well… have a nice day!"

But Mlle de Chagny was too dreamy to answer the ballerina. Turning towards the Opera Populaire, she shrugged lightly and said to herself:

"I think I'll do it."

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><p>"I must say you come in at the time we need you most, Mademoiselle de Chagny."<p>

Erik lifted his head just by hearing that cursed name. Chagny. That was the same name as the fop who had seduced Christine and taken her far away from him, never to see her again. Could the person standing there in MM. Firmin and Andre's office be related by any way to the vicomte?

"I am happy to see so. But please, if you ever come to encounter Philippe or Raoul, please don't tell them anything about it. My brothers would probably go mad just knowing I have something to do with the Opera Populaire."

It wasn't the Chagny brothers who were going to get mad, but certainly Erik. So now, after Raoul the fop, he had now his sister in HIS Opera house? Well, he wanted to have a good look at her first, just to know if she looked like his worst enemy.

She actually did. She was just a more feminine version of Chagny, who was already quite womanly himself. Her smile had somehow something mischievous, though her eyes and posture were cold and kind of haughty. Great. Just the pride which came out of her person was already really getting in his nerves. She seemed so rigid, though she looked so young. Her blonde hair was all tied up in a severe bun, though it was so beautiful. She would look so much better if her hair was just down, floating freely on her shoulders and behind her back… Wait a minute… What was he thinking? Was he actually thinking that she was beautiful? No. No way. Well, it was quite hard to deny that the Chagny girl was… well, gorgeous, though she seemed so cold and proud.

But he had promised himself, on the night of the fire at the Opera Populaire, that he would have his revenge. And the instrument of his revenge was right below him. He had stayed silent for many months, even with Mme Giry, who had tried many times to see him. But always, the entrances she used to take to go and meet him were completely shut. Erik had succeeded in taking care of himself, though he had to be extremely careful since his head was put on price. But now, since everyone had thought he had fled the country, he could take more liberties. Now, the managers, with the fire and the twenty-three people who had been drowned, would probably be scared sick of him and do whatever he would command them. Thanks to all the secret passages he had built with time, and that he had put in place when the Opera was slowly rebuilt, he could now hear or see pretty much everything that was going on in his theater.

"Well, now," said M. Firmin, "I'm proud to say that our new patroness, Céleste de Chagny, is now in business! A toast, perhaps?"

Céleste. That was her name, then. Well, slowly, his entire plan was becoming more and more concrete. All he had to do now was to find her weakness. He knew that with her, it wouldn't be easy, since she looked quite distant. But he would find it quite soon.

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><p><strong>Answers to reviews:<strong>

**Willofthewisp62:** Thank you so much! That's really kind of you to say that.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: The only opera I know besides **_**Carmen**_**, **_**Don Giovanni**_** and **_**The Barber of Seville**_** (and I don't see Céleste singing Carmen or Rosina AT ALL, though I do see her singing Dona Elvira… but I'm not putting here for a reason. Tee-hee) where a mezzo-soprano is starring is **_**Werther**_**, where Charlotte is a mezzo… But since we are in 1870, and that this opera was finished in 1885, I obviously can't use that… So I created a new version of **_**Werther**_**, closer to Goethe's novel, with a totally invented composer. Seriously, immortal and most prudent Charlotte does make me think of Céleste, sometimes, for her strength of character… **

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

While MM. Firmin and André were leading her to the stage, Céleste could hear the Queen of the Night's aria in _The Enchanted Flute, _by Mozart, but sung quite mechanically. When finally, she had a glimpse of the scene, she could see la señorita Parilla in her Queen of the Night costume, a dark blue dress where little sequins were spread everywhere, in a not very realistic pose. It wasn't false to say that she was there only for the looks. Every note she sang was perfectly in key, but she put no soul in it. The managers were probably hoping that her beauty would make the public forget her lack of expression. Well, that little cheap trick didn't work on Céleste.

The music stopped as MM. Firmin and André and Céleste entered on the stage. Immediately, la señorita Parilla turned towards them, a lovely but quite seductive smile on her face, and headed nonchalantly but sort of sensually to them. Just seeing her made Céleste quite uncomfortable and immediately, without needing any other reason, she hated her, especially when she saw the gazes the managers were giving to her. Well, they had found no better than a whore to replace Christine Daaé and La Carlotta. For a moment, she regretted her stupid impulse of becoming a patroness to the Opera Populaire. But she was pretty much past the point of no return, now.

"Señorita, may we present to you our new patroness, Céleste de Chagny."

"Ah, mademoiselle, it is a pleasure to meet you!"

She was rolling her "r" a bit too much to Céleste's taste. Spanish or not, she felt it was exaggerated. And the tongue she could see thanks to the hole between her two front teeth just appeared a bit too much. With a cold smile, she returned la señorita Parilla's theatrical bow with a very small bow of her head.

"Our conductor, M. Reyer," continued M. André. "And here is the new tenor, Frederick Jansen." The two men, one in front of the stage and facing the orchestra, and the other coming from behind a curtain towards them, bowed towards Mlle de Chagny. This time, she smiled as her head bowed even lower than with la señorita Parilla. The prima donna, seeing that, let go a little gasp of shock and exasperation, even with the angry look that the managers gave her.

"Maybe you would like to have a glimpse of their talent, Mademoiselle?" asked M. Firmin.

"Of course," answered Céleste with a smile, though she thought at the same time she had heard quite enough of the prima donna. She was about to find her as annoying as La Carlotta.

"Monsieur Reyer, the duet in the final scene from _Aïda_," commanded M. André.

With a little bow for the managers, Reyer turned towards the orchestra and, soon, the music started, while la señorita Parilla and Frederick Jansen settled in their places.

Well, one thing was sure for Céleste, after the duet was over: Jansen looked like a charming young man, and he had a lot of talent, while Parilla was only there for the bodywork. She didn't look much like the Aïda she expected, a young Ethiopian princess condemned to die buried alive in a tomb with her lover. A music box, put at her place, would have done just as well. As the prima donna and the tenor bowed and got out of the stage, M. Firmin turned towards Mlle de Chagny.

"Well, mademoiselle? What do you think of our new stars?"

"You are lucky to have found someone as talented as Frederick Jansen, messieurs. But to be honest, I don't really see what talent la señorita Parilla has."

Firmin and André looked at each other, puzzled, while Céleste fought very hard not to show a very very VERY sarcastic grin. It looked like Parilla's beauty had completely bewitched them. Men would never change. It only took a pair of beautiful eyes, may they be light and ingénue, or tempting and sensual, to turn their little brain off.

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><p>He had to admit the Chagny girl was smart, way smarter than the two fools who were running his theater. At least SHE could see the real talent in people. Too bad she was on his black list.<p>

From box 5, the Phantom had seen everything. He had followed the managers and Céleste since they had left the office, thanks to all the secret passages he had built during the Opera's restoration. The Parilla whore had been terrible, as usual. He couldn't stand it, seeing her at the place where Christine should have stood… Oh, Christine… He felt nothing but a mix of hatred and nostalgia towards her. Sometimes, he wanted to run to the Chagny's house and strangle her in her sleep, and then, five minutes after, he was imagining her standing by his side, a loving look on her face, but which was quite blurry since he had trouble getting the picture of it.

Everybody was gone, now. Erik had been too lost in his thoughts to even bother to follow them as he planned to. He was going to leave box 5 when suddenly, he heard the doors of the theater opening, than closing silently, but not silently enough so his well-developed ears couldn't hear.

As he looked, he saw that the Chagny girl was back, looking around her, as if she was afraid that someone would be there. _If only she knew who was actually looking at her. _But anyway, it seemed no one was there. Reassured, the young woman headed towards the orchestra pit and looked around her. All the musicians had left their instruments around. Seeing them, she smiled, and took gently a violin in her arms, placing it under her chin, and taking the bow with her right hand, she dared to play a few notes. Then, happy with the sound they make, she started playing a song she had always remembered since Gustave Daaé had taught her to play it.

Meanwhile, Erik was totally taken aback. He had never heard someone play the violin with such passion and such talent. Though the Chagny girl, a few minutes ago, looked so reserved and rigid, he had suddenly discovered a part of her that he would have never guessed. _The beauty underneath. _And he was also quite intrigued with the sudden sad and melancholic look she had on her face, when she put the violin back in his place… and even more when, a few minutes later, he heard her voice singing.

She had searched a bit among all the music sheets spread all around M. Reyer's desk, and had found a sheet where Charlotte's aria from Act III of Séguier's _Werther_ was written down. It wasn't technically difficult to sing, and didn't demand too much soul, for it was meant to show Charlotte's strength of mind in front the body of her lover. But when she started to sing…

Too many feelings were fighting against each other in Erik's mind. On one side, he had found her singing quite well. It was so different from _her_, vulnerable, but strong, and with a maturity _she _never had and which was truly lacking in her. On another side, he was jumping on conclusions, yes, but conclusions that were probably true. Now, he just had to find a way to trap her.

As she got out of the orchestra pit, Céleste gazed dreamily around her. She finally stared at the stage, and headed towards it. Looking up, she saw the scaffoldings where the stagehands usually worked, the very same place where Joseph Buquet had found death. But she didn't know that, of course.

She lifted up her skirts, showing her legs. It wasn't at all a lady-like way to do things. A real lady wouldn't even think of climbing up there. But who cared? _No one will see me, anyway. _So, pushing away all other principles, Céleste climbed up towards to the scaffoldings.

You needed to have a very good balance to stand on those, since they were only attached above them. But thankfully, there were banisters on each side, which Céleste held tightly, especially with the fact she was wearing high-heeled ankle boots. She gazed down, not afraid at all of the height where she was.

"You play and sing quite well."

Céleste gasped and turned towards the voice. Just a few meters from her, a man all dressed in black was also standing on the scaffoldings, looking the back of the theater, in a way she could only see one side of his face. Immediately, she blushed:

"Oh… I… I thought no one was there to hear or see me."

_I hope he didn't see me with my skirts all lifted up. Mother must be turning in her coffin right now just knowing I did that in front of an unknown man. _

"Well, I was," the man answered. "Isn't a beautiful view, here?"

"Yes, it is," Céleste said, gaining a bit of confidence back and already taking a calmer and more posed tone. "It must be a wonderful view for the stagehands who work here."

"Yes. They can see so many things from here, can't they?" The man's voice had suddenly become darker and a bit menacing. But Céleste was too lost in her own thoughts to even realize that.

Céleste and the man looked for a moment at the theater, when, finally, she broke the silence, feeling that all of this was sort of… awkward.

"So… Do you work here, monsieur?"

"Yes. I'm a music teacher." answered the man, still looking at the theater, the right side of his face always being the only thing Céleste could see of his figure.

"Oh. That's nice. What do you teach?"

"Any instrument you like, Madame."

"Mademoiselle, please. I'm not married yet. Mademoiselle de Chagny."

"Well, mademoiselle," said the man, still not facing her, "Would you like to be my first student?"

Céleste gasped. She wasn't awaiting this at all. Could it be… Could it be the chance she could finally develop a talent she was always forbidden to show? It seemed like this man was some angel who had fell from heaven to help her. _Great. Now I'm thinking nonsense like Christine. _

But she thought it was actually quite strange that the man had never faced her. Was he trying to hide her something? Like…

"Mademoiselle de Chagny?"

Céleste heard M. Firmin call her before she even came to think about anything else. Now, she had to think fast.

"Oh, I have to go. Tell me, when will be the first lesson?"

"Next Saturday, at three o'clock in the afternoon, if you wish. It will be the room just in front of the ballerinas' dormitory." said the man without any expression, still facing the theater.

"Thank you!" Céleste whispered, hurrying towards the ladder, and then, towards the door, quickly, and only thinking about her music lesson who was going to come quite soon. Céleste de Chagny, who was usually so rational and posed, had been so thrilled by the idea of reprising something she had buried with so much pain for so long, that she didn't even think of the awkwardness of the whole situation anymore. And of course, she didn't see the man slowly turning towards her, and watching her leave the theater. Because if she did, she would have saw that the face was bearing a white mask, and its lips were twisted into an evil smile.

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><p><strong>AN: Simply want to point out that I hate phanfics where the OC is a better singer than Christine, and Erik just instantly forgets all about Christine and falls in love with the OC. Seriously, it's just sooo OOC. Here, Erik does realize Céleste's potential… but he's rather going to use it for his schemes… **

**And Evil!Erik is sexy. *out* **

**Answers to reviews:**

**Mystery-Magician: **Thanks! It's true the Céleste/Phantom moment is the moment I think EVERYONE is waiting for!

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thank you! I'm glad to know my few mistakes here and there aren't too much of a problem. Let's just say I'm better English-speaking than writing, though I manage not too bad. But I think I'm better orally because of my very big mouth! XD

**BlueWolf29: **Thank you! Well, just to give you a little bit of a clue, I don't think Raoul and Erik will ever get over their dislike (not to say their hatred) for each other, but for the rest… Well, you'll see!

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Yeah, that's a good reason for the Persian not being in the POTO musical… But I still love him. XD

So, I forgot that detail that Raoul was taking violin lessons. But considering the fact that Céleste has exceptional talent in music while Raoul… well, I don't see him as a musical genius. XD For the Erik/Céleste relation, well, you'll see!

For the scene where Céleste goes and confronts Christine, Philippe and Raoul are following her to make sure she will not say too much. Christine has been rescued by Raoul from the Phantom the night just before Céleste's arrival, so she's sort of still under the shock. So, what I supposed, it's that at the moment where Raoul enters the living-room and sees Céleste who has just arrived from the convent and who is now with Philippe, he just left Christine so she can get ready. You see? And when Céleste goes to see Christine, she has just finished getting ready. But, maybe I'll edit the chapter if you still think that isn't very clear. ;)

And yes, since Mme de Chagny is dead, Céleste is THE lady of the house. Until Christine arrives and marries Raoul.

For the Prussian millionaire, he's an OC. ;) At the beginning, I thought of him just so someone would be there to help for the reconstruction of the Opera Populaire. My inspiration for him comes actually from a character in the Lucky Luke comics, by Goscinny and Morris. It's a French comic, what we call "bandes dessinées". This character from _Lucky Luke_ was a stout German woman called Gertrud Can't-Remember-Her-Last-Name who was trying to photograph a ghost and who was simply hilarious. So, since Germany was still called Prussia in 1860-1870, and that industrialization was working very well in that country, I created a Prussian millionaire who is very attracted by anything supernatural (here, the Phantom of the Opera). You'll see him soon, don't worry! He'll be there for the comic-relief. ;)

I think you'll like Ines Parilla. After La Carlotta la diva, Christine Daaé the "precious little ingénue", here's Parilla la femme fatale! XD

I always saw Philippe as a nice guy with a bit of a big mouth who sometimes talks a bit too loud but you know, he's a good guy. I was pretty sure he was going to have a teasing big brother relationship with Christine.

For Raoul knowing that Céleste of him but not realizing that she is also jealous of Christine, that's because he isn't really aware of Céleste being a musical genius. It's been years since she hasn't played, so, it sort of got out of his mind. And what happened is that Christine and Raoul got to make a choice that Céleste would never get to do. And that makes her mad, especially that she thinks that Christine, since she has passed a bit too much time with the Phantom alone (considering the very prude Victorian manners), she thinks that she has no reputation anymore. "Why would she deserve what I never got to get myself?"

About Raoul's girly looks… Hey hey. ;) I am basing myself on the cast from the 2004 film. Only, the Phantom's deformity is the same as the one in the 25th anniversary edition (with Ramin Karimloo), because the deformity in the movie was a total joke.

And Erik's first sight of Céleste… I had so much fun writing that. XD "Woah, she would really look nicer if her hair wouldn't be all tied up… Uh, wait, what am I saying?"

For the relations between the Prussian guy and herself… Well, you'll see. ;)


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Want to point out that I don't hate Christine, don't worry… but I do admit she sort of annoys me sometimes. One of the reasons why I'm not an Erik/Christine shipper. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"Where are you going?"

For a moment, Céleste thought her heart was stopping and that she was going to die right there. It was just so stupid. She was just about to start to fulfill one of her dearest dreams, and after taking all the precautions that where possible to get herself a violin without anyone noticing it, then, when Saturday afternoon finally arrived, to manage to sneak out of her room, clutching her instrument's case tightly and hiding it behind her skirts so no one would see it. And now, she turned towards the feminine and still childish voice that had called her, to see, at her great displeasure, Christine starring at her with an interrogative look in her eyes. All her girly manners were already getting on Céleste's nerves, but now, she really felt like strangling her. To now, she had always been quite polite though cold with Christine, but today, with all the pressure that was on her, she just had to get a little bit mad at her. She just hoped she wouldn't go crying to Raoul. Well, if her little brother, when she came back, decided to confront her about her hurting his precious Christine's feelings, well, she was telling him she was going to find a house of her own. And anyway, she was going to do that very soon.

"Is that of your business? Or am I now a prisoner in MY own house? Oh, don't look at me like that, Christine, and don't go crying to Raoul, either."

Without further ado, Céleste opened the door and slammed it. Yes, she was conscious that she had been quite mean to Christine. But, at the same time, she couldn't help feeling so much better. And, as she jumped into her carriage, she opened the case and, a febrile manner, she caressed the strings, plucking them, sometimes, and listening to the little sound they made.

Soon, the carriage stopped in front of the Opera Populaire. Céleste almost skipped out of the carriage, forgetting her normal demeanor of getting out of it gracefully and carefully. She walked quickly towards the entrance, and, once inside, asked for directions towards the ballerinas' dormitory.

_So, it's the door just in front of the dormitory. _The door of the ballerinas' quarters was opened, and Céleste could see all the beds, with a few ballerinas chatting here and there. She even recognized Meg Giry, the young girl she had met just before she decided to sponsor the Opera. She knew she wasn't mistaking, but how come the door just in front of the dormitory had "Chapel" written on it? Her music lesson couldn't be in a chapel. As she looked at the hour on a clock that was in the hallway, she saw it was three o'clock. So, without further ado, she entered the room where she was said to go, to see that it was indeed a chapel. Only the candles were producing a light, but a light so dim the whole room, with its walls of stone, was so gloomy that Céleste couldn't help shivering.

_What on Earth am I doing here? There's probably some mistake. _

"Oh, but there is no mistake at all, Mademoiselle."

Céleste shrieked of surprise. Did… did someone just read in her mind? She looked around her, and finally, she saw _him_. Yes, it was indeed the man she had talked to a week ago. She remembered how she wondered why he never looked at her, only showing half of his face. Now, she knew why. _Because of the mask._ And immediately, she knew in front of who she was standing.

_He's here, the Phantom of the Opera. _

So he wasn't dead, nor did he run away, even if everyone thought so. How could she have been so stupid? Well, that would teach her to believe a bit too much in her dreams. She had been as foolish as Christine. Now, who knew what this madman could do to her? Especially that she had even told him her name, and thanks to that, he probably knew she was the sister of his worst enemy. Great. Just great. She felt like banging her head on the wall because of her stupidity.

Céleste didn't dare to move. She was afraid that if she tried, the Phantom would do something bad to her, something she didn't even dare to imagine. Already, just looking into his eyes, she could read all the hatred of the world.

She heard something coming from the door. Without any explanation, she knew the door had been locked, though she didn't understand how it was possible.

But, quickly, Céleste regained her senses, and stood up straight, holding the Phantom's evil glare. With a clear voice, she asked:

"What do you want from me, monsieur? I think you know who I am, anyway."

The Phantom approached slowly. His hand came close to Céleste's face, while she was trembling, almost preparing herself to resist getting strangled by taking deep breaths. But instead, he started caressing gently Céleste's cheek. Her face became quite pale, and, with real anger, she slapped the Phantom's hand, holding herself from slapping his face instead and, by the same occasion, making his mask fall. No, she didn't want that to happen, so he could go totally mad.

The Phantom's smile widened as he grasped Céleste's fists. She wanted to shout, but quickly, he grabbed her and brought her against him, closing her mouth with his gloved hand. The smell of leather and of a quality eau de Cologne tickled Céleste's nose. _That perfume sure smells good… Wait a minute. What am I saying? Am I… _Mlle de Chagny did feel a little bit less tensed as she smelled the eau de Cologne. Probably the Phantom was only waiting for that, because he let her go and turned her so she could face him.

"Such a wild thing, hey? You do your best to look like a lady, but the beast is still roaring under that too thin of a cover." The Phantom's voice was only but a whisper. And slowly, Céleste was starting to realize why Christine had been so fascinated by her so-said Angel of Music. He did have a bewitching voice.

"I think I'll be asking the questions, mademoiselle," the Phantom snapped. "First of all, how did you learn to play music and sing so well?"

"Why do you want to know that?" Céleste asked, lifting her chin proudly. But soon, the Phantom took her face quite roughly and pulled it back, trying to get Céleste to look lower than his face, and to put her in a more humble position. But something in the Chagny girl's eyes somehow forbid him from doing that, and he could only but force her to look at him in the eyes. _Like if she was his equal. _

"Just answer the question." The Phantom said, darkly.

Céleste sighed, and resigned to his request. Well, it wasn't by opposing him constantly that she was going to get out of this place.

"I started learning long ago from a violinist who I was acquainted with. He told me I had talent. Perhaps a bit too much talent for my parents' taste. They forced me to stop, much to my dismay. Anything else?"

"Yes. Why have you decided to come to my Opera house?" The Phantom emphasized on the "my".

"It's not your Opera house," Céleste muttered.

"Oh, yes, it is. The managers may not know it yet, but I haven't disappeared. And now that they know what I can do, will they dare to stop me? No. The Opera has burned once, and thanks to God, it was only part of it. But there is worse than a partly burned Opera house, hey?" The Phantom's voice had become more and more menacing, almost as deep as the thunder on a hot summer night, vibrating on the stone walls of the chapel, giving a sort of supernatural sound to it. Céleste couldn't help trembling a bit.

"Well," Céleste finally answered, "My brothers aren't aware of this, of course. I always dreamt of sponsoring the Opera Populaire, for I have always loved the arts, despite the fact that I never got to develop my own musical talents." Mlle de Chagny's voice had become full of bitterness. "Everyone told me you were gone, so I thought it was safe. But it appears it isn't."

While she was talking, the Phantom turned away. The only thing Céleste could see now in the dark was his mask, almost glowing in a ghostly way. Finally, she heard him sneer.

"That's ridiculous. You have everything. Don't tell me you never got to…"

"Oh." Céleste interrupted him. "So you think that money and… and beauty will buy you happiness and arrange everything so you can do whatever you want?" She was only going to say "money". But "beauty" had really slipped from her lips, as she remembered, at the same time, what Raoul had told her about the Phantom's face. But, ignoring his reaction, she continued.

"Being beautiful and rich means being locked up in a golden cage, especially when you are born as a woman. The only thing you can expect from life is to be all dolled up to catch the eye of some rich man, to get married so he can show you like some trophy in balls and other events. That's what is awaiting me. And I don't want that life. If I fear one thing besides God's divine judgment on the day of my death, it's being locked up in a cage, until old age brings me to the point where I just have to accept it."

Never Céleste, even in confession, had dared to talk in such a personal way. And the worst of it was that she had told that in front of her family's most deadly enemy. But somehow, the Phantom didn't frighten her at all. She couldn't exactly explain why. He was just a man, after all, not some ghost.

The Phantom, during her whole speech, didn't move at all. But now, as she had stopped talking, he turned slowly towards her. All hatred she could see before was gone, but his face was unreadable.

"So may I ask my own questions now, sir?" Céleste finally said. "What do you want from me?"

As he heard Céleste talking, the Phantom seemed to regain his senses and a bit more assurance.

"It's simple, mademoiselle. From now on, you will do whatever I say."

"And that is?"

"You'll see. I'll let you go now. Come back Monday, in the chapel, again, at the same hour. And if you don't… I swear I'll come and I'll get you myself."

Without saying anything else, the Phantom turned towards the wall and suddenly, it seemed like he had disappeared by simply going through the solid stone, like a real ghost would have done. Céleste, left alone, got out of the chapel. And it was only then that she realized that the door, which had been somehow locked before without any explanation, had mysteriously been… well, unlocked.

Of course she was going back next Monday. She didn't want the Phantom to come at the house. Anyway, he didn't frighten her, and if he wanted to do her harm, he would have done it long ago. Her curiosity was sharpened. What did the Phantom want from her? She knew his intentions were to no good. And she wanted to know what it was going to be all about, so she could protect her brothers from him.

She headed quickly towards the entrance of the Opera, and got into a carriage. It was only then that she realized she had forgotten her violin in the chapel, but she was too numb to go back and get it. _The Phantom will take care of it. _The thought of it almost made her giggle, though the situation wasn't laughable at all.

* * *

><p>"I knew I would find you here someday."<p>

Erik gasped as he turned around, to see, relieved, Antoinette Giry. The ballerina mistress was the only person who could come to him without being heard. Her excellence in ballet had trained her quite well in moving without making a single sound.

If Erik had avoided Antoinette in the last few months, it was to make sure everybody thought he was gone or dead, including his only help in the Opera Populaire. Now, it didn't really matter, since the managers were going to know very soon that he was back. Actually, though he would never say it out loud, he was quite happy to see Antoinette again.

"I came in every day here in Box 5 hoping you would be there," started Madame Giry. "Something in me was whispering you wouldn't have just run off like that. I can see now that I was right."

Erik didn't say a word. Antoinette was used to the fact he wasn't very talkative, but today, she knew that silence meant no good. With Céleste de Chagny, Raoul's sister who had become a patroness to the Opera Populaire, it was evident that Erik knew about it and that he wasn't taking it very well. He had all the reasons in the world to get his revenge on Raoul by using his sister. She had met Céleste a few minutes earlier, and she knew something was wrong, as she looked at a shocked Mlle de Chagny almost running to the Opera's entrance. Of course Erik had something to do with that.

"You know there's a new patron to the Opera Populaire? Or a patroness, I must say." risked Antoinette, hesitation in her voice.

Erik shrugged. But Mme Giry saw the shadow of a smile on his face. _Oh no. This is bad. Very bad. _

"Erik… please… Tell me you know what you are doing. Don't let another tragedy strike this Opera house, for the love of God!"

Why she was even begging him? It was hopeless, anyway. Erik never had a moral compass to tell him what was right and what was wrong. The only figure closest to a mother that he ever had in his life was Antoinette Giry. And even she couldn't control him. And Erik's answer only persuaded her that she was right.

"So what? The managers won't be taking any chances again, Antoinette. They know of what I'm capable of, now. The Opera house is mine. More than ever. And anyway, why would I need God's love? I never had it, anyway, since the day of my birth."

Mme Giry closed her eyes, holding her tears and murmuring in her heart a silent prayer. Many times, she wished she would have showed Erik how to pray. It could be so comforting sometimes, and God was probably the only one in the world who could really care about that poor man. If only Erik could turn to Him more often… But how could she talk of God to a man who seemed to be damned to Hell even on Earth?

She turned slowly to Box 5's door, when she saw a familiar face, one that she didn't see for years. Quickly, she got out of the box to go to him.

"Daroga. It's been so long. I…. I suppose you want to speak to _him_."

The Persian nodded his head, silently. Like Erik, he was a man who didn't say much. But when he talked, it wasn't useless at all. He was going to enter Box 5 when suddenly, he felt Mme Giry's hand on his shoulder.

"Please. Don't let him do something so terrible I don't even dare imagining it."

The Persian bowed slightly.

"I'll do my best, Madame. But I can't guarantee anything. Anyway, who can truly control the Phantom of the Opera?"

* * *

><p>As Céleste entered the house, she felt like she was already breathing more easily. But, as she remembered the Phantom's threat of getting her if she didn't go the Opera Populaire next Monday, she shivered again.<p>

"Ah, Céleste, where have you been?" Raoul ran to Céleste with a wide smile, showing her Christine had said nothing about their little quarrel just before she left. Well, it looked like she was less of a crybaby then Céleste thought.

"Oh, I just went to the Champs-Élysées," Céleste lied. "It such a beautiful autumn day, don't you think?"

"Oh yes, and it's even more beautiful with the news you are going to know very soon!"

"Really? What is it?"

"Christine… we're going to have a baby."

Céleste felt like the sky had fallen on her head. A… a baby?

She shook her head and shrugged mentally at her own stupidity. Of course Raoul and Christine were going to have a baby, eventually. Only, she wasn't expecting that to arrive so soon…

Another reason for her to find herself a house where she could live alone. But she didn't say that right away. With a little smile, she answered to Raoul:

"That's wonderful. Have you thought of any names?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, I know that one of the reasons why ALW didn't put in the Daroga in the musical was because he basically combined Mme Giry and the Daroga… But still, I miss him. So as a result, he gets a big part in **_**Let It Go**_**. **

**And… I don't want you to believe that I fall into those good old stereotypes of the nineteenth-century pretty girl who is married with an old ugly guy. Yes, arranged marriages were the way things worked back then, and it didn't necesarely mean it didn't work well. And anyway, a girl's destiny, unless she became a nun, was to be married, though old maidens were getting more and more common… In Céleste's case, such a destiny doesn't really appeal to her, but she is conscious she has no choice… **

**If you want an idea of how the Daroga looks like… Well, think of Ramin Karimloo with a beard. Seriously, he's born in Tehran, Iran, and that country used to be Persia… Perfect! **

**And Philippe… he remains a bit of a mystery to me. **

**Answers to reviews:**

**Blue Wolf29:** The action is starting! Thanks for liking, it's really appreciated ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean:** To me, it's a lot more logic that, since he has a very violent and passionate temper, Erik should be mad at Christine but at the same time, he misses her. I know exactly what you mean about Erik crying all the time, it does get boring... I hope my fanfic won't be boring though!


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Once again, I cheated… **_**Swan Lake **_**was represented for the first time in 1875 and we're in 1871… **

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

"Are you… sure of this, Céleste?"

Monday morning was as sunny as Saturday had been. And Céleste had taken advantage of the joy which was reigning in the house to tell Philippe her decision of finding a house of her own, in Paris.

"Philippe, I have been thinking of this since last spring. And with Raoul and Christine starting a family, I think it would be better if I just leave. Annette will be coming with me to be my maid, but I will need a cook, a butler and a coachman."

"Well, you can take Élisa, Jérôme and Baptiste with you. I think we will do fine without them, and you know them since you're a child. At least you will not have to hire people you hardly know."

"Oh, Philippe, that is so kind of you. Are you sure you will be fine with them with me? I mean… they've been here for so long and…"

"And I'm sure you'll be a good mistress for them."

Céleste felt tears in her eyes. Not only because of Philippe's generosity, but also, because now, she knew that by taking distance from her family, they wouldn't be aware of her business with the Opera Populaire and especially, with the Phantom of the Opera. They would be safe… Well, she hoped so. And she wouldn't have to bear Christine's presence every day.

Since Saturday, the two girls hadn't said a word to each other. It seemed like Christine had finally understood that Céleste would never accept to be a friend. She would only be what she couldn't prevent: a sister-in-law. And though Mlle de Chagny was quite satisfied with it, she knew that this heavy atmosphere wouldn't last for long without making anything explode. So, it was better if she just left.

"Anyway," said Philippe with a teasing grin, "it won't last for long. You will have to get settled quite soon, young lady."

Her marriage. She completely forgot that. Great. Though she knew perfectly well that Philippe would find a good suitor for her, she didn't want her freedom to be interrupted so quickly. It was a foolish feeling. That was her destiny, anyway, since the very day she was born.

The morning passed quite quickly, and in the beginning of the afternoon, Céleste got out of the house and headed towards the Opera Populaire, desperately trying to forget the "threat" Philippe had reminded her. She had something else to worry about, which was actually quite serious compared to her soon-to-come wedding: her meeting with the Phantom of the Opera.

From Saturday evening to now, she had been tortured by the Phantom's sentence: "From now on, you will do whatever I say." What was he going to ask from her?

Slowly, evidence came to her, before her eyes. If she married, probably she wouldn't be able to have any link with the Opera Populaire anymore, nor the Phantom. If she remained an old maiden, probably the madman wouldn't let her go until his death. _His death… Who would notice? _Céleste never wondered, like most well-behaved ladies, if she would be able to kill someone. It would be so easy, to kill the Phantom. Who would notice? Who cared for him? No one. No one to love him… Just thinking of that made Céleste's heart inexplicably tightened, and she just couldn't explain why. Could so miserable of a creature deserve so miserable of a death? Well… no.

Whatever she would choose, she would never be free. It was probably better to do what her family had always asked of her instead of obeying to every whim coming from that madman. She was a caged bird, in a golden prison, and nothing else. She remembered what the Phantom had told of her: she was a wild thing. Yes, she was a wild bird, just wanting to be free, but knowing that would never be possible. Getting out of the cage, without anything for her survival, would mean death.

Talk about a choice. Being the slave of a madman, in order to know certain of his intentions towards her family in order to protect Philippe and especially Raoul. Or being the wife of some man, condemned to be all pretty in parties and to bare children, just smiling and just saying "Yes" and "No" like if she had no brains. But getting married and leaving the Opera Populaire for good would mean the Phantom would attack her family directly. And she didn't want that.

Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't notice that she had arrived. The coachman had opened the door and was looking at her, a bit embarrassed. With a bit too wide smile, Céleste got out of the carriage and, trembling, she headed towards the Opera Populaire, without looking around her. She collided with someone, who grumbled something she didn't understand, and continued without even apologizing. It was almost in a sleepwalking manner that she headed towards the chapel, and entered it.

Even if she looked very attentively, she couldn't see the Phantom anywhere. Good. He wasn't there yet. Remembering where she was, she turned towards the altar, signed herself and genuflected, mumbling a silent prayer. Only God, the Virgin Mary and all the Saints in heaven could help her now. Suddenly, a hand touched a shoulder. Strangely, Céleste was so relaxed that she didn't gasp of surprise. It was actually quite easy to guess who was there.

"It's useless to say the prayers of the dying," said the Phantom sarcastically. "I'm not going to kill you."

"I wasn't praying for that," Céleste said grimly. "Praying God in difficult times can be comforting."

The Phantom's sarcastic grin widened. "Well, just seeing the way you dress, it's easy to say you think yourself as a nun."

Céleste looked at the brown dress she was wearing. Yes, she hated that dress, and it did make her look like a nun. But what was the Phantom expecting? That she would just come wearing a red velvet dress, so low-cut it was scandalous? No way. She came that afternoon looking as decent as possible, though she was really tired of wearing those plain dresses after a year in a convent. She lifted up her eyes, in an exasperated manner.

"What do you know about God and religion, anyway? Now, stop the chit-chat and just tell me what you want."

"You're really nothing but a spoiled child, hey?" the Phantom said, his voice full of disgust. "Well, first of all, you forgot your violin, last Saturday. Good thing I was there to keep it for you."

He handed Céleste her violin case, which she took immediately. Hearing the Chagny girl muttering "Thank you" a bit grumpily but somehow sincerely, he felt troubled. No one had ever said "thank you" to him. Not even… _her_.

Meanwhile, Céleste put the case on a chair and opened it. But, when she took her violin out, she realized that it wasn't hers… She was sure of it. The varnish, for a start, was different. She peeked into the instrument, where the violin maker's label was usually placed. Her violin was made by Robillard, one of the finest violin makers in Paris. And her surprise was quite big when she saw the name of the label: Stradivarius.

These violins were worth a fortune for their amazing sound, and even Céleste wouldn't dare spend money for such a thing, though having a Stradivarius violin would be wonderful. But… but this made no sense! Why did the Phantom want her to have so expensive of a violin?

"I… I don't understand. I cannot accept this, monsieur. What is this little game? What do you want?"

"I was expecting a little more gratitude," muttered the Phantom.

"Oh, it's not that I'm not happy with this, it's just… It's not very proper for a lady to accept such a gift of a man who is not her husband."

"Oh, please, don't come and repeat to me that little lesson that your mother told you." The Phantom started having the most insupportable mocking smile, which made Céleste want to hide six feet underground. "Accept only sweets and flowers from men, darling," he continued, imitating a woman's voice.

Céleste couldn't help giggling, but stopped immediately, remembering those things weren't to be laughed at and that she wasn't at all with a friend. She was with a man, in the most improper ways, without a chaperon, and longer than she was supposed to. Regaining her senses, she said in a cold voice:

"Well, monsieur, I think you still owe me an explanation."

"Of course. But you must promise me that for now on, you will not ask me any more questions."

Céleste sighed. Did he think she was nothing more than a puppet? Well, by not promising, she wouldn't make much progress in her situation. With a grumpy look on her face, she finally answered: "I promise."

The Phantom smiled, and lifting his cloak lightly, he handed a few music sheets to Céleste, who was now quite puzzled. "Do you think you can play these?" he finally asked.

Céleste looked at the Phantom in an awkward and interrogative look, but, at the moment she was going to open her mouth, he placed softly a leather finger on her lips. "You promised. No questions. And feel lucky I'm in a good temper today." She freed herself quite quickly. It wasn't that she didn't like it when the Phantom touched her. Well, that was the problem. She felt no disgust, nor repulsion, nor even the modesty she should normally have.

With an exasperated look, she settled herself, putting the violin under her chin, the bow in her right hand, and forbid herself from asking the Phantom if she could at least practice. She looked at the score he had given her. _Concerto for violin, by Johannes Brahms, first movement._ Just looking at all the notes that were almost fighting for a place on the paper made her dizzy. Was he just expecting her to play it perfectly, right now? That was impossible! Was that his revenge? Playing so badly so he could laugh at her face? What a pathetic revenge. It couldn't be that, and Céleste felt foolish of even suspecting that. Without further ado, she attacked the first notes on the score.

Strangely, the concerto wasn't too hard to play. The Stradivarius violin produced such a beautiful sound, and soon, she relaxed, and let all her passion appear on the notes she produced. When finally, she played the last note, in a vibrato which gazed in the air and slowly faded away, she opened her eyes, and held herself from smiling when she saw the Phantom's almost amazed look. Well, it seemed like she just won a little victory.

"That was… very good," he finally said. "And… you said you just started to learn when you were a child… and you never continued after?"

"No," answered simply Céleste.

Erik lowered his head, thinking intensely. Everything was just so perfect. His plan could go on. It would be all so easy… But then, for the first time perhaps in his entire life, he felt a little hint of guilt. Céleste de Chagny was, after all, nothing else than the fop's sister, she was arrogant, cold, but she had a strength in her that _she _never had, and she had such talent. And presenting her talents to the world for that purpose… It seemed almost like a sacrilege to him.

Then the reality slapped in straight in the face… He just compared her to Christine. How did he dare to do such a thing? That was enough. It was time for him to dismiss her until next time. Something in him wasn't right. And he felt anger growing stronger and stronger in him. Not only for Céleste, who inexplicably reminded him of Christine, though she was her complete opposite, but also, for Christine herself.

To conclude everything, he handed other music scores to Céleste.

"Study these for next time, next Wednesday." he said coldly. "I don't think you'll have much of a problem with these, after what you just did. That will be all."

And before Céleste could even say a word, the Phantom disappeared like he did the first time she met him in the chapel: by seemingly going through the stone wall.

She was relieved that the Phantom was gone, but at the same time, she was disappointed that it was already over. The mystery was becoming thicker by the minute. It was evident that he was going to tutor her in violin, but why? How was that going to hurt Raoul or Christine? Well, there was pretty much only one solution to solve this: come back Wednesday.

Almost hesitatingly, she put the Stradivarius violin back into its case. For a long minute, she gazed at the case which stayed on the chair, almost wondering if she should take it or not. Then, finally making up her mind, she seized it firmly and headed, proud, towards the chapel's door.

As she got out, she headed towards the exit, but was soon stopped by M. Firmin, who immediately ran to her.

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle, please!"

Céleste wasn't really in a mood to talk to anyone. All she wanted was simply to collapse on her bed, trying to forget about all her problems. And now, she was pretty sure Firmin was stopping her to talk about money, and discussing about something that would probably just give her a headache because of all the numbers he would talk about. It took her supreme courage to turn towards M. Firmin with a smile.

"Monsieur? What can I do for you?"

"Mademoiselle! I've just realized you haven't been presented to the other patron of our Opera, Herr Schmidt! He's here, just at this moment! Would you mind if we presented him to you?"

"No, not at all," answered Céleste, though she really felt like saying "Yes, I do mind, and just leave me alone."

While they were heading to the managers' office and Firmin was blabbering about the other patron, the Prussian millionaire who, recently, had helped financially for the Opera Populaire's restoration, Céleste was only half listening, while the other half of her was moaning on her bad luck. This was just not her day. Not at all. And really, it just couldn't get worse.

When they finally arrived, Céleste could see M. André speaking with a fat little man, his face as red as his hair (and there wasn't much of it), dressed in the typical _nouveau riche_ style (which meant expensive clothes, but very little taste), and just looking at his physique, he was just the perfect stereotype of Germans: little, fat, red skin and red hair, and Céleste wouldn't have been very surprised to see him with a pint of beer one day. He was probably one those men who had gained money and power by starting their own factories and being cunning in business.

"Ah! So I finally get to meet Fraulein de Chagny!" said Herr Schmidt with a thick German accent, a wide smile and presenting his hand. Céleste shook it, but regretted to have done that very soon: for a moment, she thought her hand was going to come off because of the patron squeezing it so hard while he was shaking.

Suddenly, the door opened, and la señorita Parilla made quite a spectacular entrance. After the German stereotype, there was the femme fatale stereotype. She was wearing a red velvet dress, and all the scandal that came with it. And Céleste thought she was going to faint when she saw La Parilla almost hanging on Schmidt's neck. Well, that was the most ridiculous couple she had ever seen. Ines Parilla was a head taller than her new lover, and was as thin as he was fat, with a complexion as olive as his was red, and as sensual as he was simply grotesque. They would be all the rage in some comedy, for sure.

But Céleste showed nothing of her mockery, and stayed cold, while Firmin and André looked slightly embarrassed of La Parilla simpering nonsense while Herr Schmidt was smiling dumbly. The poor managers could feel that Céleste didn't feel too pleased about such an inappropriate demonstration, but didn't dare to say a word, afraid of annoying La Parilla and above all, Schmidt.

But thanks to God, a knocking on the door interrupted all this.

"Yes, come in!" shouted Firmin.

"Messieurs?" said Mme Giry, entering in the office. "A letter has arrived for you."

She handed them a white envelope, which André took with eagerness. But soon, the faces of the managers grew pale when they saw the back of it. The letter was sealed with a red skull they knew a bit too well.

"What?" gasped André. "This can't be. This is nothing more than a bad practical joke!"

"Just throw it in the fire and we'll be done with it!" said Firmin, impatiently. But the word "fire" made the managers slowly looked at each other and, without further ado, they opened the letter, under the intent look of Céleste and Mme Giry, who both knew very well that it was no joke, the annoyed look of La Parilla, furious the attention wasn't all towards her anymore, and the intrigued look of Herr Schmidt.

"Could this be the Opera Ghost I've always dreamed of meeting? Oh, my chance of taking a picture of a ghost!" said the patron eagerly.

"I would be careful with that if were you, monsieur," said Mme Giry sullenly.

The spidery writing allowed no mistake, nor did the letter's style. It was the Opera Ghost. And he was back.

_Have you missed me, good messieurs? I think that for now on, you will have no objection to let me manage the arts in this Opera house, since you have both proved many times that you have no competency in those matters. For a start, I still ask for my monthly salary of 20 000 francs for my services, and Madame Giry will act, as before, as your intermediary. For the official reopening of the Opera, it will be a ballet. No opera this time, though I will accept to have La Parilla sing a solo if you wish, for she seems to be more there for the bodywork rather than for her talents, and I wouldn't stand seeing her for a whole show. I've seen the ballet dancers have practiced _Swan Lake_, recently? This is perfect for me. Though the prima ballerina usually dances both the roles of Odette and Odile, La Sorelli, your prima ballerina, will only play Odile. This role requires sensuality, a thing I believe she learned quite well by her little meetings with Monsieur le Comte Philippe de Chagny. The role of Odette requires innocence and grace, and I'm sure Little Giry will fulfill this part very well. And finally, for the violin solo, you will ask Mademoiselle de Chagny to do it. She has been taught well, and has more than natural talent. _

_I do expect my commands to be executed, since you both know what disasters can occur. You are certainly conscious, messieurs, that there is worse than a partly burned Opera house?_

_Your most humble servant, _

_O.G. _

First of all, Céleste was going to ask a few questions to Philippe concerning his relations with La Sorelli.

Second of all, how would a lady of her rank humble herself to be just an artist, a violinist playing in solo?

Memories of her childhood came back to her. That was what she wanted since she was a child, though she had always fought it. And now, that opportunity was given to her. She had to take it while she had the chance. And anyway, her brothers having no relations with the Opera Populaire, they would probably never know. But… why was the Phantom helping her to accomplish her dreams? That was something she didn't understand at all.

"THIS IS AN INSULT!"

"Now, mein Liebling…"

"IT'S AN INSULT, I SAY, AN INSULT!" shrieked La Parilla, while Schmidt was desperately trying to calm her down.

"We are both sorry for this offense, señorita, but with the Opera Ghost, we cannot take any chances."

La Parilla got out of the office crying loudly, followed by Herr Schmidt running as fast as his fat body could carry him. Firmin and André turned towards Céleste and Mme Giry, and it was only then that they seemed to realize that Mlle de Chagny was carrying a violin. Well, one quality they obviously didn't have was observation.

"Oh… so you do play the violin?" said Firmin, with a suspicious glare.

Céleste hesitated before answering. For a moment, she thought of telling the managers everything, so they would maybe take measures to stop all of this. But then, she thought of the impossibility of all this. The Phantom really did control the Opera Populaire. And the warning glares coming from Mme Giry convinced her that making up a plausible excuse was the best solution.

"Yes, I must say playing the violin is one of my passions," said Céleste calmly. "I was taught by Gustave Daaé himself. I came here to practice in a vacant room to be in peace, but probably this Opera Ghost heard me and thought well of my little talent."

"Well, before going to a total catastrophe, could we hear a bit of what you can do, mademoiselle, if you don't mind?"

"Of course," answered Céleste.

Quickly, she took out the violin and the bow out of their case and, without further ado, started playing.

* * *

><p><strong>Answers to reviews:<strong>

**Lydia the tygeropean:** Oh, thank you so much, it's so so SO nice of you and when I read that, it really made my day! I hope I will not disappoint you!

**Blue Wolf29: **Well, she doesn't have much of a choice. She doesn't want the Phantom to hurt her or hurt Raoul (and even hurt Christine, though she hates her). If she executes his commands, she knows (well, sort of) what he's up to and can have a certain control on the situation. Céleste is smart and resourceful, so she knows she has chances to prevent or at least reduce the Phantom's revenge by knowing what he's up to by using her. You see what I mean? ;) Especially with the baby who is coming, she has to stay on the look-out… but she's really doing that for her family, not Christine.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: A little note to explain Céleste's behavior in this entire situation… Well, she doesn't have much of a choice. She doesn't want the Phantom to hurt her or hurt Raoul (and even hurt Christine, though she hates her). If she executes his commands, she knows (well, sort of) what he's up to and can have a certain control on the situation. Céleste is smart and resourceful, so she knows she has chances to prevent or at least reduce the Phantom's revenge by knowing what he's up to by using her. You see what I mean? ;) Especially with the baby who is coming, she has to stay on the look-out… but she's really doing that for her family, not Christine. And most especially, she's not a damsel in distress. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

Everything was settled. Firmin and André were more than reassured by Céleste's talents in violin, and she guaranteed them she would practice the solo she had to play. Coincidence (or not), the music sheets the Phantom had given her were precisely the ones she would need for _Swan Lake_. And, as Céleste was heading back home, she tried to concentrate on looking as cheerful as possible, so her brothers wouldn't ask too much questions.

It was false to think that the Chagny family was divided. Since their parents' death, Philippe knew that for now on, he had to be the father and the eldest brother all at the same time. But thankfully, Céleste and Raoul weren't of course what we would call problems. But still, you had to know them well to gain their confidence. While the sister was conscious of her rank, obeying perfectly well to every strict demand of the Victorian and puritanical society, but remained distant, his little brother was nothing more than a child. His fourteen years of life were for now an excuse, but Philippe knew that it would be up to him to help him to become a man.

When their mother died, Philippe was surprised to see that Céleste, usually so reserved and proud, actually came up to him, at first to talk about everyday trivialities, and then, with time, about more and more serious issues. She was also worried about Raoul. And soon, it became evident to both Céleste and Philippe that they had to be parents for their little brother. While Céleste, who was more aware of the religion and of culture in general, was Raoul's instructor in those matters, Philippe showed him all virile traits that a Chagny, one of the most ancient noble families in France, must have. Virile traits which, after, he got to use quite well: saving his fiancée, even though he knew he was risking his life doing this.

Céleste had never been very demonstrative in her affections. It was in her nature. But Philippe was someone she knew she could trust, and Raoul, though he was only two years younger than her, had always been like her darling baby brother. And she was ready to do anything to protect them. Even if that meant protecting them from a madman haunting an Opera house.

And, as a good Catholic, she was of course concerned of their souls. Well, she knew of course that Philippe was no saint, but learning from the Phantom himself that he had, or maybe was still having an affair with a dancer (and Céleste couldn't care less of her being a prima ballerina or a dancer in some filthy tavern) would mean a little discussion. But, at the moment, though she would never dare to say it out loud, Céleste didn't know if it was the fact that Philippe had a mistress or it was rather that it was the Phantom who had indirectly advised her of this situation.

But, when she came back home, and that she managed to rush towards her room to hide quickly the violin case under her bed and came to the living room, she didn't feel the courage of having a little talk about it to Philippe. As she saw this beautiful family portrait, with Raoul, Philippe and Christine chatting and laughing together, with the shadow of a toddler who would soon join them, it was heart-breaking for her to ruin it all. And at the same time, she felt so distant from them. Yes, it had been her choice of staying in her corner, repulsed by Christine's mere presence and, especially, of her modest origins. And that evening, she started to regret it. And more than ever, she wanted to leave. Even leave France, away from her family, from the Opera Populaire, from the Phantom. But she knew that if she did, the madman would do anything to destroy her family.

Her heart sank even more, as Philippe and Raoul announced to her that they had been lucky enough to find, in as short as an afternoon, a home already all furnished in Paris for her. And already, they had purchased everything, and all that was left to do was that she had to sign a few papers. Céleste felt tears in her eyes because of her brothers' generosity. And more than ever, she knew she had to protect them. She wouldn't let the Phantom destroy them.

The next day, she decided to proceed as quickly as possible, and even managed to pack all clothing and other trinkets in the same type, to move in her new home the same day. The sooner she would install herself, the less stressed she felt about all her business with the Opera Populaire and the lies she often had to make up to justify herself. And, that Tuesday night, after one last meal with her family, she was unusually graceful towards Christine, much to not only the Swedish girl's pleasure, but also, to Philippe's and especially, Raoul's.

And, for the first night of her life, she was even full of a childish pride to say that she was sleeping in her own house. Her joy was so great that, during the whole night, she thought neither of the Opera Populaire nor of the threatening shadow of its Phantom.

But, in the morning, as she saw the violin case at the bottom of her bed, when she got up, she suddenly remembered everything. And most especially, that she had a violin lesson that afternoon and that she didn't practice at all.

Quickly, as soon as she got dressed and took her breakfast, she ordered her maid Annette and her butler Jérôme that she didn't want to be disturbed throughout the whole morning. These precautions taken, she finally got out the violin of its case, and started studying the music sheets the Phantom had given her last Monday.

One of the titles of the music sheets was circled in red, and Céleste, especially when she took knowledge of the melody, knew it was the most important part of the whole ballet, well, for what was concerning her. It was the solo she had to play, the part where Prince Siegfried danced with Odette for the very first time. Just thinking that she would have to play all alone (or almost all alone) not only twisted her stomach, but made her curse that Phantom man even more. If it wasn't for the threat which was always hovering on her family, she would have told him her way of thinking once and for all, to finish this entire story. But inexplicably, she realized that she didn't want those lessons to finish, thoughts she attributed to the fact that she had, within a few days, created a very strong bond with her instrument, and nothing else.

After a quick lunch, Céleste was a bit reassured by the fact that she didn't have to hide her violin anymore when she got out. And now, the only real pressure that was still on her was the Phantom's menacing shadow. And that was already quite a burden itself.

As she got out of the carriage, and entered the Opera Populaire, she was about to enter the corridor which leaded to the chapel when an arm quickly caught her shoulder. Already nervous because of her soon-to-come meeting, Céleste let out a little cry, while a few people were turning their heads, looking at her like if she was crazy. Mlle de Chagny lowered her head, hiding her blushing, and quickly turned towards the person that had stopped her. It was Mme Giry, the ballet mistress.

"Mademoiselle," started the middle-aged woman, "I just want you to know that if you ever need assistance in some way, I will do my best to help you. But I must warn you that my abilities are rather limited."

Céleste bowed her head slightly, as a sign of gratitude. What could she possibly say else? She remembered suddenly when, last Monday, Mme Giry had intervened at Schmidt's excitement about discovering the Opera Ghost. _I would be careful with that if were you, monsieur. _It was now quite evident to Céleste that Mme Giry knew well about the Phantom of the Opera. To what point, she couldn't tell. Was she her accomplice? Pretending to hold out her hand so her fall would be more shattering? Or was she the Ghost's slave, trying desperately to free herself by helping her victim? Céleste promised herself to find out eventually, but for now, her head bowing was the only thing the ballet mistress would receive from her. And, without further ado, Mlle de Chagny, in a firm pace, headed her head high towards the chapel.

As she entered, the Phantom was already there. Well, the way he came out of a corner like if he came out of nowhere made Céleste suppose that. And, surprisingly, she didn't jump. It looked like she just marked a point. And, deep inside, she couldn't help but smile at the idea she had just won a little victory, quite derisory, yes, but still a victory. And it seemed like even the Phantom had realized that, since he didn't seem too pleased that his great entry did not work.

"You're getting tough to impress," he remarked gloomily.

"Is that a problem?" Céleste replied, almost scared of her own audacity.

The Phantom did not answer. Mlle de Chagny had to use all the strength she had in her not to laugh, since the idea which had invaded her mind of him pouting in the dark was just too amusing, though she was certain that, unfortunately, he wouldn't do such a thing… but still. Without further ado, she put down her case and got out her violin, a light grin on her face. And, as she turned towards the Phantom, she had taken a more serious attitude.

"Well, I've practiced every piece you have given me, especially the solo. Since I saw it circled in red, I suppose you wanted me to pay a special attention to it?"

"That's right," he answered without any expression.

"So… do you want me to start with that?" continued Céleste gravely.

The Phantom nodded, without saying anything else. While she was determined until now to stay calm, at any price, the young lady felt anger boiling in her and only waiting for the perfect moment to burst out. All of this made no sense. He was her family's worst enemy, and clearly, what he was actually doing with her was for no good, though she couldn't really understand how or why. She felt like shaking him to wake him from the numbness where he lingered, asking him why he was doing all this. She remembered, suddenly, that she had promised never to ask any questions. But she could at least ask him to be a little more… active. This seemed to go to a dead end.

"Now listen," started Céleste. "You can call me an arrogant pest as much as you want after what I am going to say. But… seriously, I don't why you're doing this, and I know it's for no good, though I really don't understand how it could be. But may it be for you, or for me, if we continue like this, we won't manage to do much. I'm not asking you to…" She was going to say "befriend", but it seemed so inappropriate in the context that she bit her lip and, for five seconds, tried to find a better word, as diplomatic as possible. But no other word came. Well, he needed her for now, so he probably wouldn't kill her. And that was the worst thing that could happen, wasn't it? Anyway, it seemed so insignificant. He wouldn't get too mad, though he had a quite violent temper. "I'm not asking you to befriend me. I'll do my best to be more amiable, but… I know it's very demanding, but can I ask the same of you?"

It took a bit of time before the Phantom condescended to answer. "Yes," he finally said. "I think I can do that." A little smile, indecipherable to Céleste, appeared on his lips. "So," he said more lightly. "Since the solo is your apotheosis, we will of course concentrate more on that."

Céleste grinned in contempt. And it seemed like if the Phantom, who saw her face at that moment, felt troubled of her being in such a state, before sneering silently. But the young lady was too preoccupied to notice, for she was preparing her sheets and placing them on a music stand that seemed right there for her use. Then, seizing her violin, she placed it under her chin and, with a light smile, asked: "May I?" The Phantom bowed his head, as a signal to go on.

She started to play, as emotionally as she could, making the notes on her violin vibrating on the cold stone walls of the chapel. But, when came a more lighter part in the melody, as she had just played a few times, the Phantom suddenly lifted his gloved hand as to tell her to stop.

"Is… is there something wrong?" Céleste asked softly.

"It's your manner of playing. The notes aren't light enough. You have to lift your bow in the air as you play the last note in each time. Remember, swans are naturally light." he explained.

"Like… like this?" asked Céleste, playing a few notes and lifting her bow on the last one.

"Not quite." The Phantom walked towards her and stood behind her. His hand, for a swift instant, touched her right hand, which was holding the bow. But quickly, he removed it.

"Hum… You don't mind me… showing you, don't you?" He asked hesitantly. Céleste smiled at his surprising modesty. She didn't expect that at all of him. Well, maybe her little speech showed him once and for all she was worthy of his respect.

"No, of course not," she answered. "It's just my hand, after all, and it's just to teach me what to do."

Nodding his head, the Phantom took softly Céleste's hand. "Play the phrase you just executed."

Céleste did so, and as she attacked the last note, the Phantom made her lift her bow just as he wanted, making her note vibrate on the walls, like a little bell. It was perfect. She smiled and turned towards her teacher. "I think I understand now," she said.

"Very good. You can continue, now."

Céleste continued, and, at the moment where, usually, the violin was accompanied by a viola, she suddenly heard one playing with her. Still playing, she turned towards the music, to see that the Phantom was the one with the viola. She paid attention for a small moment to his hands, realizing it was the first time she was seeing them without their black leather gloves. They were perfect, for a musician's, with their long bony fingers. But, on them, she could see many scars, which intrigued her. Feeling the Phantom's glare on her, since he had realized that she was observing him, she turned with a smile, and continued to play, enjoying the perfect harmony of the instruments echoing so perfectly on the stone walls.

* * *

><p>As Céleste closed the chapel's door behind her, Erik was thinking of what had happened that afternoon, while he was heading back to his lair.<p>

Well, it looked like without realizing it, the Chagny girl had just simplified his plan. It would be easy to get her, now, and her damned brother also. It would perhaps take a long time before everything would be done. She was smart. He could feel it. But women, at the basis, were all the same. As he compared his mother Madeleine, Luciana, the Khanum, and even his beloved Christine (though he would never admit out loud), he realized they had all this same weakness. Céleste could not be an exception. Or… maybe she could.

It was hard to describe, but the Chagny girl seemed, well, different. And he was even starting to think that calling her "Chagny girl" was sort of… disrespectful. He couldn't explain why or what was causing it, but he was starting to have towards her the same respect that he had for Mme Giry. Both Céleste and his ally in the Opera House had this sort of grace, which made them look so much like true ladies, the kind that you just had to take off your hat to salute them.

Yes, Céleste was lady-like, but Erik could feel that there was something else about her. Something savage, very strongly contained in that thick tamed varnish, but which sometimes seemed to be ready to crackle. It was a darkness he had always tried to find in Christine, without ever finding it.

Christine was so crystal-clear. She had a good nature, but her mind was a shallow pool with very few surprises, and it was quite easy to guess what she was going to do… except maybe those damned times where she unmasked him, once when he had brought her for the first time in his lair, and the other, like if the first time hadn't been enough of a lesson, in front of everyone, during the single performance of _Dom Juan Triumphant_. But, even though Erik realized all of this, Christine's beauty, and especially her voice were still haunting his mind. But what he was not realizing was that he was in love with her voice and her looks, which represented everything he would never get to be. Besides that, he never really knew Christine. If you asked Erik what was her favorite color, what made her laugh the most, he would have been quite embarrassed to answer.

It was only after a few minutes of this that Erik became conscious that, once again, he was comparing Céleste to Christine, and that it were to disadvantage his love to that fop's sister. He couldn't help, while he was finally arriving to the gondola, to curse out loud. How could she even dare to do that to him? She would regret it.

But now, the oath he had taken wasn't quite as solid as before. While he still despised Raoul, he didn't feel to hate Céleste as much as he did before, though he had every reason in the world to do so. Just some stupid damned and unexplained weakness which had to stop. He needed Céleste. He wouldn't let his worst enemy just run away with Christine like that.

But the remembrance of her smiling to him sincerely, while he was teaching her those little violin techniques, haunted his mind as he laid on his bed, until he finally fell asleep, in a dream that he considered as a nightmare, when he woke up, where Christine's traits wore somehow becoming blurry, and disappeared into thin air.

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><p>Two weeks passed. The whole Opera Populaire was ready for its grand opening. La Parilla, though she did it with very little enthusiasm, prepared a solo from Bizet's <em>Carmen<em>. The dancers, thankfully, had already learned very well the choreographies from _Swan Lake_. La Sorelli complained about the fact she only got to play Odile, and that the Giry brat got Odette's part. But, when she knew that the Phantom was back, she quickly decided to stop to nitpick about it. The prima ballerina was superstitious, and not very bright. And she remembered a bit too well all the pranks the Opera Ghost did to her, and didn't want them to start all over again. Yes, it was worth enduring Meg Giry skipping joyfully around the Opera house, so happy to learn she had obtained a part usually danced by the prima ballerina, until her mother sternly reminded her that she had to practice now that she had that promotion.

Céleste, also, was ready. She started to appreciate the Phantom, but only as a music teacher, of course. Yes, he was despicable, for he was her family worst threat, and that she had to constantly be on her guard. But he truly operated wonders with her violin-playing. She felt that, at each lesson, she had learned and improved so much more, though a good part of it was passed into them snarking at each other. Sometimes, it was the Phantom who would silence her… but sometimes, it was her, and it became more and more often.

Now, she knew that she was quite ready to perform in front of all those people. Protected by the anonymity of those who played in the orchestra, though she would have a solo to do, her name wouldn't be known and her brothers wouldn't discover she had something to do with the Opera Populaire.

And that evening, everything went quite well. The ballet was excellent, La Parilla sang well, though the passion which normally accompanied Carmen's interpretation was singularly absent. Céleste's performance, according to M. Reyer's description, was "above anything he had ever heard". Mlle de Chagny was a virtuoso. And those who knew she was there, playing her violin with all of heart, could say nothing but agree with it.

The day just before the grand reopening, a note arrived, instructing that Box 5 should be kept empty, a command which Firmin and André executed with great zeal. And, that night, Erik listened to Céleste's music, and realized, while she was performing, that if he wanted to execute his plan, he would have to proceed faster than planned, because the more the time flew, the less he felt inclined to do it.

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><p><strong>AN: Carmen's part is usually sung by a mezzo-soprano, and La Parilla is a soprano… But the role fits her well, doesn't it? ;) **

**Answers to reviews:**

**PhantomLilac:** Well, yes, I used a translator. (WHAT'S THE USE OF TRANSLATORS IF THEY CAN'T EVEN TRANSLATE PROPERLY?) I searched for the word "darling" and found "Liebling". I remembered hearing that in the Young Victoria movie (with Emily Blunt, awesome movie by the way, one of my favs). Baroness Lehzen (Victoria's governess) called Victoria "Mein Liebling" so I thought it meant "my darling". So here you go. Would you mind telling me what "darling" is in German, please? It would be really appreciated. ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean:** Thanks! :D

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Boy do I love your reviews. XD

I must say I was pretty much in inspiration then, so yes, I do update pretty fast. XD But now, let's just say I have a little less time now for writing, so you'll relax more, I think. ;)

La Carlotta does shriek a little bit, but it's in the higher notes, since her voice, with time, has become worn-out. And I think La Parilla is at the point where she is because of her looks and financial resources more than her true talent. A bit like a nineteenth-century Britney Spears, and once old age will come in and take all of her beauty, well, no one will care about her anymore. But anyway, I know how to enjoy opera. ;)

To tell you one thing, it's Emmy Rossum who made me not like Christine (without hating her). I don't know, she was so ingénue and sometimes foolish and it was really getting on my nerves, and the ambiguity in the movie (about her loving Raoul or the Phantom) was inappropriate to me. But for me, she was closer to the Christine from the book than Sierra Boggess or Sarah Brightman.

Yeah, the beauty underneath. XD It just slipped so well in there that I had to put it there. To be honest, I don't like LND, because of course, for me, Christine is in love with Raoul and not Erik, and in this sequel, she has acted in a terrible way towards Raoul. But ok, I'll stop talking about LND because I could go on for hours. I hate the story, but I'll admit the soundtrack was beautiful.

I totally forgot about the crinoline and how tough it would have been if she wore that while climbing the ladder. And I don't think Céleste would have stayed in petticoats. XD Boy, how did women back then sit with those crinolines on? Well, now that I think about it, the fashion in 1870 was then for what we call in French "poufs" or "faux-culs". A dress with a skirt flat on the front but "bumpy" on the back. I know I talk about crinolines, but I'll go edit that.

It is more logical to me that Erik, with his hot temper, would be mad at Christine instead of crying after her. Fanfics where that happens get boring with time.

To me, it was pretty obvious that there was going to be a bit of religion in the story. Catholicism was still important back then. There were a lot of atheists, though not as much as today. And since I'm a faithful Catholic myself, I won't make too much mistakes at that level. XD It goes well with the era, and it doesn't give too much of an anachronistic atmosphere. Just for example, making Céleste too progressive and feminist would be anachronistic. Yes, she is sort of a feminist, but for her time. Not like George Sand (aka Aurore Dupin) who was dressing up like a man, or like the suffragettes, or other feminists in that type. No, Céleste is a feminist in the sense she knows a woman can take care of herself on her own without a man to always help her. Unlike Christine. ;)

I'll change the valet guy. XD And I knew it, I knew I was going to have trouble with Schmidt's name. XD

Christine is doing well with Philippe and Raoul, but since she was this kind nature, well, she wants everybody to be happy around her (it can seem weird that I say that, after what happened with the Phantom, but she didn't have much of a choice anyway). So it's logical that she is going to try to sympathize with Céleste. But it's true Christine doesn't understand yet why she hates her. ;)

I liked my idea of the "wedding salvation". It changes so much from the stereotype of the arranged marriage with some guy twice as old as you are and then there's your prince charming that comes and saves you. And Philippe's relations with Sorelli will be quite useful later (you'll see! I already said too much!)

Reading music scores can be easy. I'm a violinist myself and I have usually no problem with that, but executing it is another thing, I'll admit it. XD But I'm basing myself on the fact that I know a guy who had never played the clarinet before and one day, when he borrowed one from a friend and that he played it for the very first time, he did it like if he had already played before. So, basing myself on the fact that Céleste is a musical genius, well, I made her play a bit of Brahms fluently. Maybe it wasn't top perfect (like Itzahk Perlman's performance of it, for instance), but very good for someone who had never played it before.

I must say that to describe La Parilla at the beginning, I used the term "bodywork" which was as you said coming from the book. But then, for the ballet, I just had to put Sorelli in. Imagination can sometimes be your master. XD

And remember the Phantom, well, he is a bit mad. Just for example, he could have kidnapped Christine anytime; he didn't have to do it in front of everyone in Dom Juan Triumphant. But he's an artist. Keep that in mind when his plans for Céleste will be slowly revealed. And sometimes, I think he isn't conscious of the consequences of his acts (like a child, actually. Erik can have a very childish behavior sometimes, may it be in the book, musical or movie). So on a moment of anger, he could burn the whole Opera, and then just say "Oh, what did I do?" just after it's done.

**Blue Wolf29:** Thanks! :D And about Céleste resolution, you understood everything. ;)


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: The opera **_**Sleeping Beauty **_**has been invented by the author for the needs of the story. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

For the next few weeks, it became quite official that Céleste had become the official solo violinist of the Opera. It simply made her so joyful to hear M. Reyer praise her great talent, knowing that the conductor was a great musician. For the very first time since her parents had forbid her from continuing her dreams, she felt that finally, the world was ready to accept that she, Céleste de Chagny, had her place in the artistic world, and not only as a patroness. And, for now, her brothers knew nothing of all her business. With all the visits she paid them regularly, she could see that they were perfectly happy, with Christine and Raoul's baby who would probably come for the coming spring. And more than ever, she was determined to protect their peace at any price.

For what was of the Phantom, she had her lessons with him twice a week. For now, she was preparing herself for the upcoming opera, _Sleeping Beauty_. She was always trying her best to stay polite and even kind to him, though she stayed on her guards. And Erik, who for the first time of his life was starting to feel remorse about all of his plans, knew that he would have to act fast. The memory of Christine, and especially Raoul was still too strong in his mind, and he knew he wouldn't be in peace as long as he didn't do something about it. Anyway, he was past the point of no return, now.

It was only about a month and a half after _Swan Lake_'s performance, and just two weeks away from _Sleeping Beauty _that one afternoon, where Céleste came in for her lesson as usual that she saw André running towards her, as soon as she got off the carriage.

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! This is… this is…"

André seemed in quite a shock. And, when Céleste saw the opened letter he was holding, with the too-well known red skull seal, she knew that this meant no good.

"Perhaps, monsieur, it would be better if we discuss of this somewhere else? At my home, maybe? I think it will avoid some unwelcomed ears to hear us."

She was, of course, talking about the Phantom.

"Very well," said the manager. "I'll go and fetch Firmin to come with me."

Half an hour later, Firmin and André arrived in front of Céleste's home, while she had arrived a few minutes earlier so everything would be ready for them. Finally, they all settled in her living-room, while Mlle de Chagny tried looking as calm as possible, though she was quite nervous about the Phantom's letter. Maybe now, she would finally understand what he wanted from her.

"Well, for a start, Mademoiselle, I think I'll let you read."

Delicately, Céleste took the letter, and her eyes quickly deciphered the spidery handwriting.

_I must say, Messieurs, that I am quite pleased with the fact you seem to have accepted to agree to my commands and to pay my salary regularly. However, there will be a few changes in your plans for the _Sleeping Beauty _performance. You will keep Jensen as Prince Philippe, La Parilla as Aurore (though I must say she plays her part better asleep than awoken) and La Sorelli as the Lilac Fairy. However, it will not be Madame Lefebvre who will sing Maleficent's part. For this performance, she will be replaced by Céleste de Chagny. I have enjoyed very much La Lefebvre in her younger years, but I judge now her voice has gotten too old and shaky, and doesn't have enough power anymore. And of course, you now that power, but also maturity are necessary for this role. This is why you will cast Mlle de Chagny, who I think responds perfectly well to those conditions, and though her genius in violin is undeniable, I believe she will be more useful for the stage than for the orchestra. Make sure that, since she has this promotion, to place her in the room which used to belong to Mlle Daaé. _

_I remain, Messieurs, your most loyal servant, _

_O.G. _

_P.S. For her performance, Mlle de Chagny shall be credited with her real name, and not a stage name. I am conscious this demand is a little more delicate to execute, but I still hold a lot of importance to it. And I think it is useless to remind to you, Messieurs, what could happen if you do not answer my commands. _

Well, that was the summit of catastrophe.

The puzzle's pieces were now assembling quite quickly in Céleste's head. Obviously, the Phantom wanted her to become a singer, taught by him, just like Christine.

Was… was he trying to do to her the same scenario as he did with Christine? If that was what he was trying to do, how did he expect to get revenge on Raoul with her? Dishonor her? Make her fall in love with him? Ha. That would never happen.

With her name known, Paris, and especially her brothers were going to know she was in business with the Opera Populaire. And she didn't want that to happen.

But Céleste was no damsel in distress. Did the Phantom truly expect she would just stay there crying on her fate, and being manipulated like some soulless puppet? No. Was the Phantom looking for war? Well, Céleste was quite ready so war could go between them.

Finally, she looked at Firmin and André, sitting, dumb, in their chairs.

"This is ridiculous, isn't it?" said Céleste. "And frankly, Messieurs, I will sing the part of Maleficent if this madman desires it, but there is no way my name shall appear anywhere."

"But, mademoiselle, you know that is quite impossible!" gasped Firmin.

"So what? Shall you let one man treat you like puppets? And anyway, it's HIS opera house, after all," said Céleste, sarcastically insisting on the "HIS". "He won't make it blow or something. How will he live, anyway? Make sure there is no employee staying alone, and I think everything will be fine. But seriously, Messieurs, how could a woman of my rank possibly agree to such a condition without putting her reputation in peril?"

* * *

><p>Céleste did not go to her lesson that afternoon. She was too late, anyway. But, on the next one, she came at the Opera house, quite determined to ask the Phantom the meaning of this. Anyway, now, he couldn't ask that her name would be appearing on the posters for <em>Sleeping Beauty<em>, since Firmin has informed her, the day before, that the order had been sent to the printing works for the definitive publicities and that now, there was no turning back.

She entered the chapel, and, seeing that he was nowhere to be found, she grew furious. Usually, Céleste was so calm and posed, and never got angry. But today, she felt she would explode if she didn't shout. Anyway, the chapel was soundproof, since no one ever heard her playing during her lessons with the Phantom.

"WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WHERE ARE YOU?"

Yes, she was shouting, and she couldn't care less. For the first time since… well, her childhood, she was throwing away all the principles of the perfect Victorian lady, letting go her true nature. And it seemed so savage and primitive to her that she was almost scared of herself.

"You missed your last lesson."

In a fury, Céleste turned towards the Phantom. She didn't care if her hair was a mess, or if her face was all red. She would have been pleased to know that every lock was well in its place, and that anger, instead of making her face all red and twisted, made her a bit paler, and her eyes brighten in an almost supernatural light. It fit her well. She was of those women which anger made them more beautiful. And Erik, though he was doing everything not to think too much about it, was the first one to realize it.

"Well, after what happened, Monsieur, I think that you are smart enough to guess why I didn't come. Now, I think you owe me an explanation."

"I remember I made you promise never to ask questions, Mademoiselle."

"That was before."

The Phantom did not answer, which made Céleste a lot more confident, maybe a bit too much for her own good. She continued her head high, in an arrogant and mocking posture.

"So you thought I am just a… just a woman? Just like your precious Christine, maybe?"

Even years later, Céleste would never be able to explain why she had been so reckless. The mere mention of Christine was too much for the Phantom to bear. His eyes flashing in a murderous blaze, he hit Céleste, stunning her. The last words she could hear before falling unconscious roared in her ears: "How dare you, you bitch?!"

For long minutes, Erik stared at the fainted young woman at his feet, wondering if he should just let her there. Inside him, he was still furious that Céleste had dared to mention _her _like that, and in such a horrible way. In her voice, he could feel that she didn't like Christine too much. How did she dare to do such a thing? Well, it was true that if nobody loved or liked Christine, things would have been a little bit easier. But at the same time, he felt remorse because of his gesture towards her. Where did it come from? Never, never he had felt remorse before. And now, it was starting with her? This couldn't be. Was this a spell? Was Céleste de Chagny some beautiful witch trying to seduce him? He couldn't let that happen.

It looked like he would have to take drastic measures.

Without further hesitation, he took Céleste in his arms, and disappeared with her through the shadows. He would keep her as a prisoner in his lair, until she would accept to carry out his commands.

* * *

><p>When Céleste woke up, she could still hear the Phantom's insulting last sentence ring in her head. Everything was still confusing around her, so the first thing she did was, of course, defending herself. A Chagny wasn't insulted with such impunity.<p>

"How dare you say I'm a… a…" Her voice was reflecting very well the dryness of her mouth, which made her feel quite like an idiot. Especially that she hesitated like someone retarded, while what happened was that she had only stopped just before she was almost going to say that dreadful word.

"A bitch?" She heard a voice behind her, and turned to see the Phantom who had finished her sentence for her, and with such casualness that Céleste blushed. "Because you disserve it, maybe, and that your damn pride will maybe receive a good lesson. And I'm rather surprised, mademoiselle, that you seem to worry more about your insulted pride than where you are."

While the Phantom was talking, Céleste had taken notice that there was water everywhere around them, and that she was actually in a boat. A gondola, to be more precise. The boat's floor was covered of a thick Persian rug, which made a comfortable improvised bed for the time she had fainted. And, at the gondola's back, the Phantom was rowing slowly. _Oh no. _She knew exactly, thanks to Raoul's descriptions, where she was going. He was taking her to his lair.

"Why are you taking me there?" She finally asked, having fully recovered from her fainting. "Why must you take me to your lair?"

The same crooked, mocking smile which always made Céleste want to hide six feet underground appeared on the Phantom's face. She absolutely hated it when he did that. "It looks like your brother has described his adventures quite well to you. So, what version did you received of his rescue? Did he tell you that he came in and freed Christine without any difficulty, and that I stayed there sniveling?" As he mentioned Christine, bitterness combined with the mockery of his voice.

"No," answered Céleste with disgust in her voice. "He said he got almost drowned while coming here, and that when he arrived, you nearly strangled him, and in order to save his life, you forced Christine to stay with you and to kiss you."

"Really? Well, he has climbed a few degrees in my esteem. But he is still quite low."

Céleste did not answer. She was thinking of what Raoul had told her. Just after Christine had kissed the Phantom, he had suddenly decided to let her go, and Raoul with her. But why? Now, it seemed quite clear that the Phantom was now seeking revenge for that. Everything was just so confusing.

"Why did you let her go?"

She immediately regretted to have asked that question, but it really slipped from her lips. _Me and my big mouth have caused me way too much trouble today. _But thankfully, the Phantom didn't burst into some tantrum this time. For a few minutes, he didn't answer, still regularly rowing on the dark water. But Céleste could see that he was thinking intensely.

Really, why did he let her go? Erik, though he didn't want to think about it, remembered how he felt when Christine had kissed him. He had dreamed of her soft lips on his for so long, and now, it was finally happening. But, as she kissed him, his dream, at the same time, broke into a thousand pieces. This wasn't at all what he was expecting. Though he had never been kissed before, this wasn't a lover's kiss. There was no passion in it, only a sort of bitter-sweet kindness full of modesty and especially, pity. And, just after she was done, he didn't like at all what he was reading in Christine's eyes. Pity. Erik had pride himself. He never wanted to be dependant of anybody or pitied. And now, the one love of his life had nothing but that, pity, towards him. And, in a flash, he saw how his life would be with Christine. Would he be ready to pass the rest of his life with a woman who would never love him as much as he did, the shadow of her fop of a fiancé always hovering around her heart, who would wake up each morning by his side with a smile which did not say "Good morning, my love" but "Good morning, poor Erik"? No. And for that moment, he felt nothing more than hatred mixed with some sort of nostalgia towards Christine. She disserved to pay for it, and by revenging on Raoul, it would be the perfect punishment for her.

Finally, Erik turned towards Céleste, and saw that they had arrived at the banks.

"It's none of your business, anyway," he answered roughly. "Now, just get out of the boat and don't try to run away."

Sighing exaggeratedly, Céleste got out of the boat, crossing her arms and watching the Phantom pulling the gondola on the bank, her left eyebrow higher than the other.

"So what now?" She asked sarcastically. "I suppose I'm a bit too useful to be strangled to death or tortured, so are you going to make sing Maleficent's part until I faint again?"

"Maybe," the Phantom answered, and Céleste was surprised to find amusement's shadow on his lips. "Actually, you are going to stay here until you are willing to be a good obedient child."

"I'm a bit too old to be a child," said Céleste, slightly pouting but amused.

"Really? How old are you?" the Phantom continued in the same manner.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that you mustn't ask a lady her age?"

"If you don't, I'll guess. And I don't think you'll appreciate it very much."

Céleste lifted her eyes towards the undergrounds' ceiling. "I'm twenty-four. Happy, now?"

"Well, you still didn't agree to sing Maleficent's part, so I'll say no. Now, come."

In the darkness, the Phantom headed towards a few levers, and lifted one. Then, suddenly, Céleste could see little chandeliers going down and lightening by themselves, in an almost magical way, since… well, magic didn't exist in this world. Or did it?

All around them, candles seemed to start lightening without anything which could have seemingly set fire to them as well, and soon, the Phantom's lair became quite visible.

"Oh my God," gasped Céleste.

It was arranged just like a house, only, without the walls, and many artistic elements, costumes, sculptures, paintings, were all spread here and there. But the lair had his two most imposing elements. The first one was a pipe organ, with music sheets spread all around it. And Céleste couldn't help wondering how he actually had that down there. The second one was a bed. It was enormous, carved in a swan's shape, and the silk sheets were in a shade of such a bright red that it was quite visible. Céleste could guess a bit too well why it was there, and swallowed, uncomfortable.

Forgetting for a moment where she was and with who she was, Céleste advanced slowly in the lair, looking around her in an amazed gaze.

"Glad to see you like my home," said the Phantom sarcastically.

Mlle de Chagny turned quickly towards him, blushing, like if she was caught on some crime. But he was no longer paying any attention to her, and was heading towards the organ.

"What are you doing?" Céleste asked.

"Giving you time to think. Aren't you glad I'm in a better mood and that I'm willing to wait?" His mocking smile was back. She hated it. She absolutely hated it. Why? Because it didn't make her embarrassed, nor did it shock her. That was the point. She realized that she _liked _it. Without further ado, she turned away proudly, tripped on some chest, almost sprawled on the ground (and thank God she didn't see the Phantom's face at that moment) and sat on a chair near from where she was.

At first, she didn't think at all about her situation. She decided to calm down her spirits a bit, trying to listen only to the sound of the lake's water flowing. From time to time, she was looking towards the Phantom. He seemed to be writing something. A threatening note? Or… maybe was he composing? No, it couldn't be that. If he was composing, he would probably try out a few notes on the organ. But soon, she realized that the Phantom was often looking at her intently, like if he was… studying her. Céleste retained herself from lifting her eyes towards the ceiling and decided that it was more than time to think about everything.

Well, as long as her name would remain unknown from the public, it wasn't such a big deal. The posters, the leaflets, everything was probably definitely printed now, and the Phantom, for once, had no control on that. Well, that was one victory against him. Anyway, what could he possibly do? He wouldn't make the chandelier crash again, nor would he kill some stagehand since measures had been taken, and making La Parilla croak like he did once with La Carlotta wouldn't be a bad thing at all. Céleste retained herself from giggling imagining La Parilla's face when she would start croaking in the middle of _Sleeping Beauty_.

Finally, she got up and said, with a smile:

"I'll do it. But, tell me… Will I still get to have violin lessons?"

She felt a bit of bitterness thinking of it. Manifestly, the Phantom had changed his plans. It was foolish of her to have asked this, but she would truly miss her violin lessons. It was _her _instrument, after all.

"Of course." The Phantom lifted up his head from his work, and quickly got up, his face unexpressive, contrasting with the wide smile of delight which appeared on Céleste's face when he had agreed to continue violin with her. "We'll start right now, since we have little time before the performance."

Céleste headed towards the organ, had a slight cough to clear out her voice a bit, and gazed at the organ's keys.

"Do you know how to play the organ?" The Phantom asked.

"A little bit," answered Céleste. "When I spent a year in a convent, the organist sister taught me the bases. She said this instrument could play any music in the world."

"It can," the Phantom said, dreamily.

A few seconds passed in silence. And Erik, suddenly remembering what was going on, cleared his voice and said more gravely:

"Shall we warm up?"

* * *

><p>Two weeks after, everything was ready for <em>Sleeping Beauty<em>'s performance. With an intensive training, where she had a lesson everyday half of violin and half of singing in the room the Phantom had assigned for her, the same that used to belong to Christine, before. Each time she arrived, the Phantom was already there and Céleste preferred not to ask how he got there. Well, she was pretty sure now that Christine wasn't entirely pure now, with that madman who had access to her room all the time. But anyway, now, she knew her parts very well. The role of Maleficient wasn't too complicated: she had an aria at the beginning, where she cursed the little Aurore of dying the day of her sixteen years of life, and another where, disguised as an old woman, she was going to give a rose bouquet to the princess with a needle hidden it in, causing Aurore to fall asleep until her prince would come and wake her up with a kiss. And it that scene, she would sing her joy of seeing her revenge fulfill, until the Lilac Fairy came in and told her that she had lost the game anyway.

After her first practice in the Phantom's lair, he had blindfolded her and took her back to the chapel. And, since then, she hadn't gone back there. Though she would never admit it, she would have loved to go back, since the place, from the first sight, had fascinated her. But she didn't dare to ask, so the Phantom wouldn't have some wicked idea from her demand. Anyway, why would she want to go back there?

With great satisfaction, she had seen all the publicity for _Sleeping Beauty_, where her name was nowhere to be found. During all her singing and violin lessons, the Phantom had never mentioned anything about it, which certainly meant he knew nothing about all her little scheme. And even if he did find out, Firmin and André had taken all measures so nothing too bad would happen. All employees were warned of staying in little groups of at least three people, and were placed in strategic places in the theater.

There was absolutely nothing to fear.

As Céleste got ready in the room, putting on Maleficent's long dark purple robe, letting her blond hair free on her back and wearing a strange hat in the shape of horns, she heard a knock on her door. As soon as she said: "Come in!" Mme Giry entered the room.

"I hope you are ready for tonight," said the ballet mistress with a gentle smile.

Céleste grinned with a little nervous laugh. This wasn't going to be first time she was going to perform alone, but tonight, everyone was going to see her. She knew she was ready, but still… She felt a childish excitement at the idea she was going to perform in front of a public. And at that moment, she realized how much she had changed since she had left the convent. Was she still the reserved and cold young lady that once she was? Looking at herself now, the answer was, well, no. Her little nervous laugh, which would have been so undignified to her a few months earlier (not to say a few weeks earlier), seemed so insignificant. And somehow, things were better this way.

"_He _has asked me to give you this," Mme Giry continued, insisting a bit on the "_He_", and giving Céleste a beautiful red rose, with a black ribbon tied around it. The young woman's eyes widened a bit, and swiftly, she took the rose from Mme Giry's hand with a quick word of gratitude. Without saying anything else, the ballerina mistress got out of the room, leaving a confused Céleste contemplate the rose in her hands, before she shrugged and got out a vase from a closet, pouring in a bit of water and placing the rose in it, well in evidence, on her dressing table. And, as she heard the affluence in front of her room, she knew it was time for her to go towards the wings.

_The show must go on. _

* * *

><p>Act I went on without any mishaps. Céleste sang her aria in such a powerful way, with anger and distress mixed in it. More than one member of the audience was amazed by this unknown singer, and never would they have suspected that Céleste de Chagny, the last descendant of one of France's most ancient families, was actually on the stage. La Sorelli, well… danced like she did usually, with great technique but very few emotion, just like La Parilla sang. Now, Act II was starting, and soon, everything was going to be over for Céleste… At least, she hoped so.<p>

Just as Act II was starting, at the part of the opera where the kingdom was joyfully celebrating Princess Aurore's birthday, Céleste raised her robe's hood, hiding Maleficent's horns and hiding her face into the shadows, and grabbed the rose bouquet she was supposed to give to the princess, so she would prick herself and fall asleep. For a few minutes, since she wasn't going on stage right away, she watched with a bit of condescension La Parilla perform. Really, it was ridiculous to see her as a sixteen-year-old innocent and graceful princess. She was too womanly, and looked and sounded too experienced to sing Aurore's part. Certain innocence and ingenuity were missing. But anyway, whatever part La Parilla did, it was pretty much the same phenomenon that happened: she could have been very well replaced by a music box.

Finally, Céleste got on stage, mysteriously approaching La Parilla/Aurore and, with a graceful bow, offering her the rose bouquet. The prima donna approached to grab the bouquet, and suddenly, shrieked, in a little cry of pain which was a bit too real to have been played, knowing La Parilla's little talent in acting. And already, Céleste could see drops of blood on her finger. That wasn't supposed to happen.

And, straight after La Parilla's shriek, an evil laugh banged on the walls of the theater, and no one could hear or see where it came from. But from who it came from, everyone knew it a bit too well.

Already, superstitious Sorelli was shrieking of terror in the wings.

"HE'S HERE! THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!" she cried, hysterical, while a few ballerinas were crying with her and that Meg Giry, the only one who seemed to stay in a certain serenity, was trying to calm everyone down.

"Where is he? Where is he?" Cried Herr Schmidt from his box, immediately reaching for a suitcase, taking out a camera, and red of eagerness at the idea he was going to photograph the famous Opera Ghost.

"I do not understand, Messieurs, how come Mademoiselle Céleste de Chagny has not received the praise she disserves until now for her performance," the Phantom's voice echoed strongly. Céleste retained herself from lifting her eyes towards the ceiling. Great. There went her anonymity. Tomorrow, everyone in Paris would now she had performed on stage like some vulgar artist, including her brothers. She just hoped no one would take the Phantom's words seriously. Well… that would probably not happen.

A cry, this time coming from La Parilla, drew Céleste's attention away. Black brownish spots turning into some sort of warts started to appear on the prima donna's hand, spreading at an amazing speed on her arms, and very soon, on her face. Just in front of Céleste's eyes, the disaster announced by the Phantom in his note was revealing not only to her, but to the whole public. Almost hysteric, though it only showed by her hands trembling, Céleste looked into the rose bouquet, to see a big needle covered with blood drops. The Phantom probably slipped it in while no one was looking, and probably the poison which was attacking La Parilla's skin was coming from the needle which she had pricked herself a few minutes ago.

This was a bit too much for not only Céleste, Sorelli and La Parilla, but also the public, who started to run away in general panic while the Phantom's laugh was still roaring in the theater, and that the curtains closed quickly. Throwing down the bouquet, Céleste lifted the skirts of her robe and ran away from the stage.

She didn't want to go back to her room, knowing the Phantom could come and get her there. Sometimes blocked by the frightened crowd, Céleste was desperately looking around her, until she heard a voice calling her: "Mademoiselle… de Chagny, isn't it?"

Céleste turned, to see in front of her a man perhaps a few years older than her who seemed to have come straight out from some oriental tale. He was smiling to her, but in a way she didn't like at all. He looked like some Arabian Bluebeard, and it wasn't at all to reassure her.

"Do you need any assistance?" The man continued, with a hint of foreign accent.

"No, thank you," Céleste said quickly, wishing to get rid of that man for good. "I was just heading towards my room to get changed since the opera seems to be over…"

She saw at that moment that the man wasn't listening to her anymore. She shivered, as she saw a murderous glare pass in his eyes. When she turned towards the direction where he was looking, she could see another man, older, who seemed pretty much as the same origin as he was, dressed like any other Occidental man, at the exception that he was wearing a turban.

But quickly, "Bluebeard" turned back to her. "Allow me to insist, mademoiselle."

Just in time, like a guardian angel, Mme Giry arrived.

"Mademoiselle! M. Firmin is looking for you. It is urgent, please follow me quickly, you will get changed later."

Quickly, as they headed towards the western entrance of the Opera house, Céleste knew that Mme Giry had only made a diversion, and was grateful to her for it. But where was she going to lead her? She became worried, especially when the two women got out of the Opera Populaire and that Céleste saw a carriage stopped just in front of the entrance.

"This is enough," shouted Céleste. "May I know, Mme Giry, what is the meaning of this? What are your relations with the Opera Ghost, now? Are you his accomplice? Who is he, anyway?"

Mme Giry sighed deeply, as she had all the pressure of the world on her shoulders. "You can trust me, Mademoiselle. But please, let's stay quiet. _He _could hear us."

Nervously, the ballet mistress turned towards the Opera Populaire, scrutinizing its roof, like if she was trying to find, in between the sculptures representing the nine Greek Muses, some dark shadow shaped like a man.

"Please, let's hurry before he comes here to find us," begged Mme Giry. As Céleste and she turned towards the carriage, a man wearing a turban showed himself at the door, the same man who "Bluebeard" was looking at in such a deadly way.

"Monsieur?" asked Céleste, hesitantly.

"Please, Mademoiselle, climb in," the man said gallantly but with a certain anxiety in his voice. "And simply call me Daroga."

* * *

><p><strong>Answers to reviews:<strong>

**Lydia the tygeropean:** Thank you! ;) Et très bon français, en passant… :D

**lorxy:** Thanks! :D And glad you like my version of Erik. ;)


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Going through a quick resume of Erik's past, for those of you who haven't read Susan Kay… (Very good book, by the way, well, until Chrissie comes in…) It will help you to understand the rest of the story and the references who will be spread here and there, and why Erik is younger here… **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

As Céleste finally settled in the carriage, the Daroga knocked on its roof as a signal for the coachman that they could leave. As they got farther and farther from the Opera house, the young lady felt a lot less tensed, instinctively knowing that she could trust the Persian and Mme Giry. Finally, Céleste broke the silence:

"So… what do you know about the Phantom of the Opera?"

Mme Giry lifted her head, a sad smile in her face.

"It's a long story. Our knowledge put together, we know many things, but I believe we will never know everything. What is unknown from us, _he_ will take it to his grave. His real name is Erik. And later, he discovered his family name was Destler."

So the Opera Ghost had a name, like everyone else. Erik. The simple discovery of his name made him somehow a lot more human for Céleste.

"I don't know where he is born," continued Mme Giry. "I just know his father died before his birth, and that his mother disdained him since she set her eyes on him. She didn't allow him to get out of the house, for the village's inhabitants were very superstitious. I don't know much of his childhood when he was still with his mother. I just remember he told me once, on his fifth birthday, he had refused to wear his cloth mask to come to the dinner table. His mother got so angry she took him in front of a mirror and showed him his face. It was the first time he had ever seen it. He thought it was a monster and he broke the mirror with his hands. Have you ever noticed he has scars on his hands?"

"Yes," said Céleste. "I remembered I was wondering where it came from. So… it all happened then?"

"Yes," answered Mme Giry. "His mother didn't even take care of his wounds, though he was bleeding to death. A woman did. And I think that's why he is so obsessed by mirrors. Even today, he still thinks they are magical."

"He's a master with them," the Daroga added, gloomily. "He knows how to control them in a way he can make people see only what he wants them to see. Anything. Anything except his face."

After a heavy silence, Mme Giry finally continued.

"From a very young age, he has shown great abilities. He's not only a composer and a musician, mademoiselle. He's a genius… He's also a magician, an architect, he draws very well, he…"

A sob interrupted Mme Giry. Céleste, with a sadden look, took the ballerina's mistress hand gently. She sighed, and finally continued.

"He has this voice since he is very young. His mother often said it couldn't be a gift of God, but of the devil. And though it breaks my heart to admit it, I don't know if she was right or wrong."

Céleste couldn't help agreeing with Mme Giry. She had heard many times Erik's voice, when he was helping her learning Maleficent's part, and had understood why Christine had been so easily fascinated by it. She did feel, though, that it was sort of contained during her singing lessons. It had to be simply angelic when he let it go for good. It was truly the voice of an angel… But there were not only angels in Heaven, but also in Hell. Céleste knew that Erik certainly didn't come from Heaven, but strangely, to say that he came from Hell was a whole other story.

"He left his mother when he was about seven years old. He told me a mob attacked his house and that he had been injured. His mother wanted to get married again, and he wanted her to be happy. So he left… but he stumbled across a Gypsy camp."

Tears were falling on Mme Giry's face, but she carried on Erik's story anyway.

"He did learn from them many medical abilities, but he was treated mostly like a beast. His master used him in his freak show, calling him the "Devil's Child". One day, they arrived at Paris, near the Opera Populaire. I was starting in the ballet chorus back then. The other girls and I went to see the Gypsies' attractions, and there was that freak show. He was in it. Everyone was just throwing rubbish on him, while he was nothing more than a poor child who never had luck. When the show ended, I just couldn't go. I hid myself behind a caravan and I watched him play with a rope. Then his master came back… and he wanted to do to him something so horrible I don't even dare to describe it… and… and… he only wanted to defend himself, mademoiselle, I'm sure of it… He took the rope and… he strangled his master. If he didn't… I don't even want to think of what would have happened. He got out of his cage, since his master had opened it before… well… but a gipsy saw him and got everyone after him. But I succeeded in taking him swiftly by the hand and bringing him unseen to the Opera house. He hid there… and I took care of him, I nourished him… He even became like a son to me, mademoiselle, as much as you can be his mother, of course… But that didn't hold him from leaving the Opera house at fifteen… I thought he wasn't really going to do it. But he was tired of always hiding in the shadows, and he wanted to see the world. And he saw nothing but horrors."

Mme Giry couldn't continue. Tears were falling on her cheeks, and her shoulders were shaking a bit, but no sob could be heard. Never Antoinette Giry showed her feelings publicly, and already, what was going on was far past the limits of decency. But this was no ordinary moment. With a little nod, she silently asked the Daroga to continue her story.

"During his travelling, I got to meet him and to see his many talents for such a young age, since he wasn't even twenty yet." the Persian started. "Before I came here, to Paris, after many unfortunate events, I was at the Shah of Mazanderan's service. He was looking for an architect for his unfinished palace, and since this young man had nothing, I decided to give him a chance. I was sure he could stay under my guidance, for the Shah is malleable and weak. But I didn't count on his mother, the Khanum. She totally controls her son, mademoiselle, and she is the real leader of the country. She has a second son, a lot cleverer than his brother. He is her golden child, and she has raised him in a way he is reminded constantly that because of his power and birth, he can receive and do anything."

"Very quickly, the Khanum had become intrigued of Erik's always-masked face. I had warned the Shah that he absolutely refused to show his face, which he accepted, especially when he saw the plans Erik had prepared for him. But with the Khanum, it was a whole other thing. I did everything which was in my power never to leave him alone with her, but it was no use. One night, she found a way to break into his room with guards. And as soon as she saw his face, she had thought of an amusement for her younger son's education."

"He became her "Angel of Death". He had to come up with sophisticated traps and torture devices not only for her amusement, but also for her son. The boy became one of the cruelest persons I have ever met. You must be prudent, mademoiselle. The man you have met, just before you came here – it is him."

Céleste's eyes widened. "But… but I don't understand… What do I have to do with all of this?"

The Daroga lifted a hand. "I'll finish this story first, to give you a few recommendations after. When the palace's construction was very advanced, enough for the Shah and his family to move in, the Khanum convinced her elder son that Erik would become a danger for him, since he knew where every room, where every secret passageway was. I was put at the head of the organization set to arrest him, but since I had befriended him – of course, as much as you can be friends with him – I decided instead to help to run away, though it meant not only his head, but also mine would be put on price. We found a refuge in France. I offered him to stay with me, but he refused. He didn't want to be dependant of me in any way. He has lived hell, mademoiselle, but he has the pride of an emperor." The Daroga had a very thin shadow of a smile while saying the last sentence.

Silence followed, which Céleste, after a few minutes, finally broke.

"So I supposed that he headed towards the Opera Populaire, where he had lived for a few years when he was younger, and he met you again, madame?"

"Yes," answered Madame Giry, calmer. "It had been ten years since he had gone, but I hadn't forgotten him. Meanwhile, I got married, I had Meg, my husband died and I became the ballet mistress. I knew somehow that one day, he would come back… But I didn't expect him to come back the way he was now… When he was still a child, the Opera house was his playground. He liked to play pranks on everybody, especially with the fact that no one could ever suspect that he was the one behind it. When he came back, he started to have that habit again… La Sorelli started to cry it was a ghost behind all this. So, in order to have a living, he started to build himself an identity as the Opera Ghost. He started blackmailing, and I must say it has always worked quite well. He knew the passageways since he was a boy. They have always been there, though no one ever knew of it. With the money he started to receive in exchange of his services, if I can speak of them like this, he started to build his lair. Probably your brother has talked of you about it?"

"Yes," Céleste answered simply, before clearing her throat and admitting: "I've… I've been there."

"What?" The Daroga and Mme Giry said in a chorus.

"I got mad at him. It was a big mistake. I starting to threaten him that I would stop obeying the commands he gave to me and I said something I shouldn't have said. He was so angry he slapped me and I fell unconscious. In order to make me submitted to his will, he was going to keep me as a prisoner in his lair. But I had already arranged everything with MM. Firmin and André so my name wouldn't appear on the posters for _Sleeping Beauty_. What he… well, Monsieur Erik was asking of me was to sing and to be credited for it? I could do the first thing, but not the second, and anyway, even if he wanted to, there was no turning back. So I accepted… And catastrophe struck…"

Céleste lowered her eyes, thinking of what happened to La Parilla. A poetic punishment indeed, to be cursed in what was probably her vice. But still…

"Will… Will La Parilla stay in this state?" She asked, worried.

"No." The Daroga answered. "After tomorrow, it will be all gone."

Céleste nodded slowly her head. "Do I know everything about him, now?"

"All we know," said Mme Giry.

"Everything but what is behind the mask," the Daroga added in a low voice.

"Why did you tell me this?"

"Well, mademoiselle, you'll have to decide what to do, now." said the Daroga. "I believe you are spirited enough to be aware of all of this. Especially that it is easy to see that Soliman has an eye on you."

"Soliman… that's the name of the Shah's brother, isn'it?"

"Yes. He has seen me, so he probably knows Erik isn't far away. And if he hears all about the story of the Phantom of the Opera – which will probably happen, if he didn't already – he'll know he's here. I was going to recommend you to stay away from him, as much as possible, but…"

The Daroga sighed before continuing.

"It would be probably even better if you stopped all contact with the Opera Populaire."

Céleste gasped. Suddenly, she didn't even want to leave the Opera. Not like this. Throughout Mme Giry's and the Daroga's stories, she had started to see the Phantom in a whole other eye. As the story went further on, inexplicably, she was saying to herself that she couldn't leave him alone. Now that she knew too much of his secrets, it was like she was linked to him. She was even sure that Christine herself didn't know the quarter of all of this. But anyway, what was the use? The Phantom hated her, anyway.

Or did he?

She remembered his mocking smiles, how his eyes sometimes twinkled when she was playing her violin or she was singing… All those little signs that showed that maybe he didn't hate her that much. Maybe it was simply Raoul he hated through herself. But with time, it seemed like this dislike had worn off. Céleste did physically look like Raoul, but her eyes were brighter and malicious, and her hair, instead of being a shade of dirty blonde like her brother, was so fair it seemed almost white and silver. And for the character, well, she knew she was his complete opposite.

But still, the Phantom was using her.

Was he? She didn't even know how or why he was using her to get his revenge on Raoul. But anyway, what other motive could be valuable for all of this? Maybe the Daroga or Mme Giry knew about this…

"You probably both know that he wanted to use me to get revenge on my brother? Do you know why?"

While Mme Giry nodded her head negatively, the Daroga answered:

"His plan proves well his artistic side. A clever man would have simply kidnapped you, asked your brother for a ransom and took advantage of him coming to get you to kill him. But he wanted you to slowly climb the levels of the Opera house to become the prima donna, and later, make everyone believe he had dishonored you. This would mean for you, of course, that you would have been obliged to marry him. Your brother wouldn't have accepted it, of course, and would have provoked him to a duel, where he would have died. His revenge on the Chagnys would have been complete, then."

Céleste lowered her eyes, hiding her tears of anger. So he was acting all along. Very clever.

What… was she mad that he had been playing his game? Was she attached to him more than she thought she was? No. This was ridiculous. It couldn't be. She was foolish. Simply foolish.

"But I do believe, mademoiselle," continued the Daroga, "that he started to feel weaken in his plan. The last time I saw him, he said he was going to do his best so you could be well established after all this… affair."

"That's kind of him," said Céleste grimly.

"I wouldn't be that severe, mademoiselle. I never saw him having any remorse of that sort. Maybe he became more attached to you then you think. But anyway, with Soliman around, he will have other things to care of."

The Daroga approached slowly of Céleste, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"If we told you this, it's because we know you can keep a secret, and that I think you will be more reluctant to trap him for good in some way, after what he was planning to do to you. Erik doesn't need another soul hating him. Also, you must know who Soliman is. Believe me, I know it's hard to believe a human being can be totally bad, but it becomes true with him. That man is pure evil and laughs when he sees pain. And he is determined to get what he wants. Stay on your guards. Your family is too closely linked to the Angel of Death, and if he comes to know that link, especially the one you have with him… I don't dare imagining what could happen to him."

Céleste's eyes were full of tears. "I will stay away from Erik, if it is necessary," she said in a small voice, without saying what she was thinking, that she didn't want him to get hurt.

* * *

><p>It was past midnight when the carriage stopped in front of the Opera Populaire. Swiftly, Céleste, Mme Giry and the Daroga got out, and the young lady, escorted by two unusual bodyguards, headed towards her room to get changed, since she was still in Maleficent's outfit. And it was pretty sure Erik was going to be there, waiting for her.<p>

Céleste, so the Phantom wouldn't go away with the sight of Mme Giry and the Daroga, got in her room first. As she lit up a candle, she looked around her and saw no one… until a voice suddenly said:

"Antoinette, Nadir, come in. I know you are here."

Finally, Erik's silhouette got out of the shadows. Céleste saw that he was closing the mirror, which was actually a door, behind him. _So that's how he got access to this room. _

"What did you tell her?" the Phantom asked as Mme Giry and the Daroga came in.

"Erik, this is no time for that. Soliman is here." The Daroga announced, coldly.

If his face stayed expressionless, Céleste could see that the Phantom's gloved hands were trembling. "What?"

"Yes. And he has set his eyes on Mademoiselle de Chagny, here," the Daroga added.

"What? Wait till I…" Erik, in anger, was heading towards the door, until he realized what he had just said. He turned slowly towards Mme Giry and Nadir, who were giving him quite a wry look, and then, to Céleste, though he didn't even dare to look at her in the eye.

"May I know the meaning of this, Monsieur?" snapped Céleste. "Anyway, this isn't necessary. I think you understand very well I can't have any business here anymore. Especially with your little show-off. Now, all Paris will know that I was there on stage. And that includes my brothers. But that's what you wanted, hmm?"

"STOP IT!" Erik yelled. "THAT'S WHAT I WANTED BEFORE! Now… now…"

"Now what?" Céleste's voice had become softer, while a sparkle of hope which she didn't realize the presence was in her eyes.

"Now leave." It was the Phantom's only answer.

Céleste lowered her head. Yes, that was the best thing to do, anyway. But just before… She took the violin case and handed it to Erik. "I think this belongs to you, Monsieur." she said with a sad voice.

For a moment, Erik took the violin case from Céleste's hands, and looking at it for a time, he handed it back to her. "No. Keep it, please."

Céleste smiled. "Thank you, monsieur. And thank you for your tutoring."

Erik simply nodded. Well, at least she thanked him before leaving. Christine had never done that.

And for the first time, comparing Céleste to Christine didn't anger him at all.

Without looking back, Mlle de Chagny got out, followed by Mme Giry, who had taken her clothes, while the Daroga remained in the room with Erik.

"You know what to do, don't you?"

Céleste nodded. She only had the energy to do that.

Ten minutes after, as Mlle de Chagny was all ready to go, the Daroga arrived in the room where she was with Mme Giry.

"Erik will send a note tomorrow to command the managers to set the blame of _Sleeping Beauty _being messed up on some stagehand who disserves to be fired anyway, and to tell everyone he just wanted to do a prank. It's cruel, but we have no choice if we want to spare our own lives. It will be what will appear in the newspapers. But for you, mademoiselle…"

"It's alright. I'm done here, anyway." said Céleste, her mouth tight.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know, you all hate me now… Mwahahaha. **

**Answers to reviews:**

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Oh yes, "faux-culs". XD "Cul" didn't have back then the vulgar meaning it has today. Sometimes, old words become pejorative and sometimes even vulgar. "Cul" is an example.

And yes, "toddler" was meant to be there. ;)

What I mean by "the only person of Christine" is really everything. Her ingenuity, her sensibility, her modest origins, all little elements which are annoying Céleste. I'll correct that when I'll feel less lazy for it. (Shame on me)

And Céleste (though she won't admit it out loud) is reluctant to lose the Phantom's tuition, since okay, she has every reason in the world to hate him and to stay on her guards with him, but hey, she has to admit it, he is a good violin teacher! ;) About the Phantom touching Céleste's hands… Well, for the Phantom's deformity, I'm basing myself on what he had in the 25th anniversary edition (with Ramin Karimloo). I didn't want a complete one like in Leroux, and in the 2004 movie, it was. A. Total. Joke. So he doesn't really have the "zombie-like" hands like in the book, if I can describe them like that. It's just that… you know, touching Céleste like he does, he only touched Christine like that. And remember the Phantom is troubled when he thinks of Céleste: he starts comparing her to Christine, etc.

For now, Erik's attraction to Céleste is of course her "dark side", if I can call it like that, and her appearances, because Céleste is what you can call a beautiful young woman. So, for now, there's "sex-appeal" playing its game. XD I always thought Christine was too innocent for Erik, (and that's one of the main reasons why I'm a Raoul supporter), while

Céleste has a maturity which I think Erik is looking for.

And for the orchestra… Well, let's just say that what happens in the Opera, stays in the Opera! XD

But thanks for the "self-promotion"! I'll admit I did start looking a bit at your stories… You'll certainly receive a few reviews from me! ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean: **It's true Erik ruins a lot of performances… Let's see… Il Muto… Dom Juan Triumphant… Sleeping Beauty… Gosh. XD

**PhantomLilac: **The Daroga is awesome, I agree! *Fangirl squee* But I still prefer Erik (of course).

**Erik's guest: **Thank you so much! Your review sure took me on surprise! Well, for "Bluebeard", you'll know who he is very soon. He is linked to Erik's story in Persia, that's all I can tell you. For the "Bluebeard", well, he doesn't really have a blue beard, Bluebeard is a fairy tale character based on the historical character of Henry VIII, a guy who had many wives which disappeared mysteriously. Actually, he had killed his wives and put their still-bloody corpses in a locked room. Very creepy. And it's a fairy-tale for children by Charles Perrault. So Céleste, who remembers that fairy tale, thinks that the guy looks like Bluebeard, (especially that I don't know why, but Bluebeard is always illustrated dressed in an oriental style…) so… here you go. ;)

**TheCrimsonPen: **I received your PM! Thank you so much, it was really kind of you and I'll answer you as soon as possible!

And well, before, I was hesitating between Jessica, Natalie Dormer and Holliday Grainger… But now, I think Holliday, though she is very pretty, has too much of a chubby face, and Natalie, even though I absolutely adored her in The Tudors and that I adore her in Game of Thrones, is a bit too sexy for Céleste… and Jessica… I don't know, I just don't quite see her. If you want to know how Céleste looks like, think of Elsa in Frozen. I just can't think of any actress that can make justice to how I imagine Céelste.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

As she got off the carriage, headed towards her room, dismissing Annette from helping her to get changed and ready to go to bed, Céleste felt incredibly numb. It was only when she was finally in her night gown and all tucked up in her bed that she seemed to realize what had just happened and what was going to happen in the next few days that she burst into tears, incapable of any sort of self-control.

Why was she crying? She couldn't understand why. Was she afraid of her brothers' reaction? Well, that was quite cowardly of her. A good Christian had to accept all responsibilities coming with his or her acts, even if that meant being thrown to the big cats like in the Roman times. Except that for Céleste de Chagny, the big cats had names: Raoul and Philippe. So, it was hard, but she would have to assume. Oh well. At least with the story Erik had made up, she wouldn't get into too much trouble. Anyway, what did she really done wrong? The domains of art and music were getting more and more accessible to everyone, and it didn't have the dishonor it had in the past. Maybe it still remained for some puritanical people, but anyway… It wasn't the time where even the great geniuses like Molière himself were excommunicated anymore. Well, it would probably not be very helpful for her wedding, but Céleste couldn't care less. Anyway, Philippe should get married too, instead of hanging out with La Sorelli.

La Sorelli? Hmm… It wouldn't be a bad thing if she told Philippe she knew everything, when he would ground her about this whole affair. The shadow of a smile appeared on Céleste's lips, when she suddenly remembered she still didn't know why she was grieving so much.

Was she crying because of Erik? No, certainly not. Well, maybe because she had lost the tuition now. But Céleste knew it was more than that. She suddenly regretted to have learned his story. It didn't help at all.

But, incapable of falling asleep, she muttered a prayer for the man enclosed in his Opera house and his disfigurement.

When finally, early in the morning, she fell into a troubled sleep where nightmares of what happened the last night were all mixed up, La Parilla and her brown warts, visions of Erik's past, Soliman, she was awoken by a gentle knock on the door and, in a still sleepy voice, she invited the person to come in. It was the maid, Annette.

"Mademoiselle, Monsieur le Comte is here and wishes to see you."

Great. She didn't expect Philippe that soon.

"What time is it, Annette?"

"It's… noon, Mademoiselle. But we didn't dare to wake you up before that, since you have arrived late yesterday."

_Well, it's a reasonable delay, _Céleste thought. _Let's just hope Firmin and André had time to inform the news that it was a stagehand and not really the Opera Ghost. _

"Is Raoul with him?"

"No, Mademoiselle."

_Thank God. I won't have to endure his distressed and angry puppy face. _

"Bring me my dressing gown, please, Annette. I'll have a quick wash just before. Tell my brother I'm coming to see him."

Quickly, Céleste washed her face, made sure her braid wasn't too messy and put on her dressing gown. It was only her brother, after all, and it wouldn't matter if he saw her in her night apparel. Before getting out of her room, she took a deep breath, hoping the storm wouldn't be too strong.

Philippe was sitting in her living room, with his bad-days face.

"Céleste," he said as soon as his sister entered. "Please sit down."

"Philippe, let me explain." Céleste said so calmly she was surprised of herself. "The newspapers have probably used the story to make up some fairy tale…"

"Well, yes, I've heard of it. Everyone in town is saying the Phantom of the Opera is back, but the managers of the Opera Populaire are saying it's some drunken stagehand. Is it true?" Philippe asked with a suspicious face.

"Of course," Céleste lied, so casually she promised herself to have a good confession later.

"Then, how come you have something to do with the Opera Populaire?" Philippe's voice had got up a few decibels. But he wasn't angry. Not yet.

"I was just a patroness. Oh, Philippe, stop looking at me like that. You know I wanted to patron the Populaire just like Raoul when I would be out of the convent, and I had absolutely nothing to do. I made sure the madman was gone before engaging myself into anything. I didn't want you or Raoul to know it, because I knew that our dear brother would have become paranoid about all this."

"Well, thanks to heaven, Raoul and Christine left yesterday for Perros-Guirec for two weeks and will stay unaware of this," said Philippe grumpily.

_Yes, thanks to heaven. _

The rest of the story was a little more delicate. Céleste decided to lie about the rest. Yes, it hurt to do that to her brother, especially that she knew that he trusted her and would believe what she would say. At least, she hoped so. After all, she had broken his trust by hiding that she was involved with the Opera Populaire. But he didn't have to know that Erik was still there, so his life would be put in danger. Philippe, and especially Raoul, would be perfectly able to capture him for good. For now, she had seemed to have completely forgotten that the Phantom of the Opera was her family's worst enemy.

"At the last minute, La Lefebvre was sickened and unable to sing Maleficent. I knew the part very well, since I had attended her practices, since I'm one of her admirers. I just wanted to help. With Maleficent's makeup, no one would have recognized me. Monsieur Reyer helped me a bit and I managed quite well… Until that stagehand came to ruin everything."

The worst was said. _Sorry, Philippe. But I had to. _

"You are free not to believe me, Philippe, after what happened. But that's the truth."

_Sorry, sorry. _

"Oh, but I believe you, Céleste," said Philippe, already calmer. But his voice rose again. "But do you realize you put our family's reputation at risk? What will the people say when they'll learn that Céleste de Chagny has performed on stage?"

"Oh, Philippe, really, I think our family will get out of this very well." Céleste almost shouted, exasperated. "After all, the Vicomtesse de Chagny is a former prima donna and you… you… You aren't even able to settle yourself; you're just good enough to take an idiotic prima ballerina as a mistress!"

Philippe's eyes widened of disbelief. "How… how do you know that?"

Céleste shrugged. "It doesn't matter." She was looking intently in Philippe's eyes. He lifted down his head and sighed. "So, I suppose we can stop talking about all this?" continued Céleste.

"All right, you win."

"Anyway, with what happened, I have taken back my patronage. Is that enough to content you?"

"Yes, yes, yes, just don't mention this affair again, Céleste, please!"

"You could have at least taken a smarter woman," muttered the young lady. Really, her brothers had absolutely no taste.

When Philippe finally left, Céleste raced back to her room, curling up in her bed. She felt like being ill, today.

As she remembered what had just happened with her brother, she couldn't believe what she had just done. She lied, she betrayed Philippe's trust, for the first time since their parents' death, and all that to save a man who had swore to cause her family's ruin?

But somehow, Céleste felt she had done the right thing. Now that she knew too much about Erik, she was sort of forever linked to him. The only two that knew what she knew were Mme Giry and the Daroga. And they were Erik's allies. She had, unwillingly, become his ally. And somehow, it broke her heart to betray him.

Did she pity him? Maybe. But as the Daroga said, Erik Destler had the pride of an emperor, and certainly wouldn't appreciate much that Céleste de Chagny pitied him. The young lady realized he was too much to be a poor miserable creature. He had strength in him, a dark strength that somehow fascinated her, since she felt that within her, she had it, but her good lady varnish was always retaining it. He had lived hell, a hell where so many people would have found their death. But he had survived.

What would have been his life, without the disfigurement which seemed to have always been his curse? When she saw the "good" side of his face, Céleste could see quite easily that he could have been a handsome man. He was more than gifted, he was a genius. He would have been worldly famous… but once again, his face had prevented him from doing all this.

Céleste had always been a faithful catholic. In these kinds of situations, it was true that it was hard to believe in God's infinite mercy. But always, she knew there was a way or another for even the lowest sinner to have his redemption. How Erik would find his own redemption, Céleste had absolutely no idea who would help him in such a situation and how it would possibly happen. But one thing was for sure: it wasn't in a prison that he would find it.

* * *

><p>It looked like his plan for the Vicomte had just blown up.<p>

But there was no time to waste in useless regrets of revenge. It would just show up to him another day. Soliman was now at the center of his worries.

Well, at least, with the Mlle de Chagny who had interrupted all relations with him, things were going to be less complicated. By getting close to the young woman, he could eventually team up with the Chagny brothers to track him down. And though Erik knew how to defend himself, Soliman was the kind of enemy you had to be ready for any situation.

Everything would be fine, now that arrangements would be taken. In a corner of the lair, behind a few folding panels for more intimacy, Nadir had established his quarters. For the time Soliman was in Paris, it would be better for him to hide. Erik didn't like too much the idea of having Nadir peeking around his things, though he was discretion in person, but anyway, it was in a case of drastic measures, and for now, he was forced to accept it. Erik listened to his friend snore with a smile. Well, that was pretty much the only time when the Daroga showed his presence in such a loud way.

Well, almost everything was fine for now.

What Nadir had said to him last night: "He has set his eyes on Mademoiselle de Chagny" tortured his mind more than he wanted to permit himself. Soliman was nothing more than a beast. While he was condemned to be one, the Shah's brother had willingly chosen to be one. And imagining her in his clutches…

Why, why was he worrying so much about her?

Erik looked, numb, at all the drawings he did of Christine, drawings he started to produce from the very first time he saw her. At the beginning, the results were… deceiving. The first one looked pretty much like a stick figure of Louis XIV with a dress. But, with time, he had improved his techniques, and his drawings soon became strikingly resembling.

When she was gone, well… He thought he would never draw anything else again.

The day where he had taken Céleste to his lair, in order to keep her as a prisoner until she was willing to obey his commands, his gaze had been caught by the sight of his drawing material. And, while his prisoner was sitting on a chair, probably making up her plans for _Sleeping Beauty _at that moment, he had found nothing better to do than to draw her…

Why did he do that? Even now, he didn't know why. He had caught, from time to time, an interrogative look on her face, while his pen was flying over the paper, and he was wondering why it wasn't him who had that look. He had only drawn her face for now. And, as he was studying it, the resemblance he had found at the beginning with her brother had sort of totally disappeared.

She was beautiful. It would have been a lie to deny it.

She was even beautiful when she was furious. He remembered to have seen Christine mad once. It was a very rare thing, since she rather cried when she was somehow disturbed. And she was very sensible, so it happened often… He didn't even remembered why she was angry. He did remember very well her face getting red, her mouth pouting so exaggeratedly he had somehow frowned. He didn't like to see her like that. It didn't fit her well.

When Céleste was furious, it was like a snow storm in Russia. Strong, devastating, but beautiful at the same time. She was the kind of women who would play Camille in Corneille's _Horace _or Hermione in Racine's _Andromaque. _Furious, passionate, but still beautiful.

For now, he had only drawn her face. But for the clothing, he had no idea how he was going to dress her up. He wasn't going to draw those horrible nun-like dresses she was wearing all the time. Besides that, he had only seen her in Maleficent's robe. And he wasn't going to draw her like that.

He sighed, and, while his eyes were gazing across his desk's chaos, they were suddenly stopped by the sight of a book he had almost forgotten the existence. It was a collection of traditional Scandinavian tales.

He remembered when he had got that book. It was when he was pretending to be the Angel of Music M. Daaé had promised to send his daughter. He wanted to read the story of Little Lotte and of the Angel of Music to be sure of his shot. But he had never paid attention to the other tales.

He quickly skimmed through the pages, so absent-minded he didn't even laughed at himself for reading fairy tales for children. Finally, a colored illustration stopped his gaze suddenly. He blinked, hardly believing what he was seeing.

It was Céleste.

Erik closed his eyes and shook his head quickly, trying to regain his senses. Calmed down, he looked at the story the illustration was accompanying. It was the _Snow Queen. _

Again, he observed the picture. It was, of course, the title character who was portrayed. She did have a striking resemblance with Céleste. The same blonde almost white hair, the same delicate and malicious traits, and, through the image, he could feel the Snow Queen's power and at the same time, her coldness. It was just like he felt Céleste's inner darkness, though it was always contained by the principles and the weight of society.

Attentively, he read the story.

The Snow Queen's name was Elsa. She was the princess and heiress of a northern kingdom, and lived with her little sister, Anna. From a very young age, she had showed very strong powers where she could control snow and ice. But one day, accidently, Elsa had hit Anna near her heart, almost causing her to die. If the little girl was saved, the eldest, in order to protect her little sister, was separated from her, secluded and forced to control her feelings, since they seemed to be the source of her powers.

But, one day, of course, Elsa became queen and had to get out of her imprisonment. As the coronation party took place, Anna quickly fell in love with a prince and, in the same evening, he asked her in marriage. It was a very imprudent move, which Elsa of course was aware of. She refused to give her blessing, starting an argument between the two sisters, which lead to Elsa exposing her powers in front of everyone.

Having an angry mob after her, convinced that she was a sorceress, Elsa ran away to a far away mountain, leaving a snow storm rage as she fled. And it was only there that, all alone, far away from everything she had known, she could control her powers.

_She's there, twirling, dancing in the storm raging around her. Graceful, looking so ethereal. But it's a lure. She is the storm. And throughout the wind's howl, the sound of a violin rings clearly, getting stronger and stronger. _

It was coming back. The music was coming back.

This couldn't be.

Since Christine had abandoned him, Erik was certain that he would never be able to compose again. But the sound of a violin playing notes as quick and swift as snowflakes dancing in winter came to him. It was a concerto, except there was no orchestra where the soloist had to play and dominate it. Only the wind.

But it seemed like the music was coming back. And thanks to the sister of the man who took away his muse from him. What irony.

Erik closed the book brutally and banged his head on his desk. Everything was getting so complicated. He remembered how often he compared Céleste to Christine. He remembered his dreams where Christine's traits were more and more blurry and replaced by Céleste's.

In a start of anger, Erik seized a bottle of ink and threw it towards a corner of the stone walls, shouting of rage in a sort of way to calm himself, hoping it would wake him up from this nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. _It has to be. _

An awoken and perplexed Daroga popped his head out of one of the folding panels, wondering if it was better to go and see Erik or just leave him alone. Well, it was always better to mind your own business with him, but still… Maybe he would be in need of help one day. When? The Persian had no idea. It would take everything for Erik to admit that he did need some sort of assistance in life.

Suddenly, Erik got up of his desk, heading towards his organ. He opened a bottle of ink, seized a sheet of paper, and started writing. For time to time, he was trying out of a few notes on the organ's keyboard. Nadir smiled.

The music of the night was back.

* * *

><p>Her days seemed now so unoccupied, and life seemed extremely dull. Céleste had to find ways to distract herself before falling in some sort of depression. She had decided to pay Philippe more regular visits, so she could talk to him more privately about everything and nothing, especially when Raoul and Christine were still at Perros-Guirec. It was, also, a way to make up for the lie she had been obliged to set up, she had decided to spend more time with him.<p>

It was about a week after the _Sleeping Beauty _catastrophe that Céleste arrived one day at her brothers' residence to be greeted as soon as she came in by a Philippe with a smile almost going from ear to ear.

"Céleste! You came just at the good moment! I just have a guest with me whom I really wish to present to you."

While he was talking, he was leading Céleste towards the living-room. The young woman was preparing a lovely smile when the sight of Philippe's guest made her congeal in a second.

It was Soliman.

In a flash, Céleste remembered everything the Daroga had said about him. While Philippe did the presentations: "My sister, Céleste. And Céleste, this is Soliman." and that Soliman was gallantly kissing her hand, muttering in a low voice: "Mademoiselle", it took everything for Céleste to retain herself from running away from the living-room. She hoped he would have enough tact not to talk about their first meeting at the Opera Populaire… But with that kind of man, you probably had to be prepared for everything.

"We have met two weeks ago," continued Philippe with a smile. "And I must say Soliman has more than fascinated me with his Oriental stories."

"Oh, but Paris is just as fascinating," added Soliman.

"How long do you expect to stay here, Monsieur? I suppose you are doing a tour of Europe like so many men." Asked Céleste with a smile, almost surprised of her own diplomacy, especially at this moment…

"I don't know how long I'm staying in Paris, mademoiselle," he answered. "But with all the beauties who are here, it might be a little longer," Soliman added, looking at Céleste. Mlle de Chagny lowered her head and bowed at the compliment, just like good manners demanded it. But another thing which was necessary in those situations was to blush modestly, or else, you were considered by society to be licentious. And Céleste, who already had a very pale complexion, was almost deadly white. Philippe noticed it and looked discreetly at his sister, worried, then at Soliman. His friend's face was undecipherable, but a very light smile appeared on his lips.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know, I know, you all hate me now… But believe me; it's only going to get worse. *outta here***

**And by the way, Soliman is Jason Momoa. ;) **

**Answers to reviews: **

**TheCrimsonPen: **Happy, now? XD

**Erik's guest: **It was a very nice surprise, don't worry. XD But for the lessons, I'm afraid Erik will be pretty busy with Soliman… But Céleste and Erik aren't at all done with each other, much to their dismay… or not. XD

**PhantomFan01: **Glad you like Soliman and especially Céleste! Writing Erik/OC phanfics can be sort of risky… Often, people who write those kinds of phanfics give weird names to their OCs, don't give much depth to them and/or just make up a cheap copy of Christine only prettier and a better singer, which is disappointing. So to make sure not to fall in those stereotypes, I wanted to make Céleste Christine's complete opposite. Anyway, I always thought Erik needed someone a little bit more (okay, a lot more) badass than Christine. XD

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **About Céleste's ingenuity, I must say that she shows a lot more cleverness than Christine. Seriously, in the movie, I made a few face-palms at certain times saying to myself: "C'mon, Chris, is it really that hard?"

And technically, the Phantom doesn't know Céleste changed address and that she isn't living with her brothers anymore. So she's safe. ;)

About the Phantom's mockery… Well, I wanted to have a bit of a "sassy Erik" in this story. Arrogant, proud, (but not too much, he does have certain vulnerability), not just howling in a Ben Lewis-style after Christine like in too much phanfics…

And Céleste's promotion… I know it's kind of big. It's part of the Phantom's "plan". Remember he heard Céleste sing at the beginning. Only, he's starting to weaken, so he knows he has to act fast.

I've always assumed Christine was having her lessons in the chapel (in the movie, just after Think of Me, she's in the chapel when the Phantom congratulates her about her performance). And since she was apparently never bothered there, well I came to the conclusion it's soundproof. XD

For Céleste calling herself a Victorian lady… My story is happening in 1871. So I know there was the Commune in Paris at that time, and I thought of fitting it in, but it became a bit complicated. I realized after that Andrew Lloyd Webber actually didn't respect the historical reality either, since at the time POTO was going on, France was at war with Prussia, the French were losing and Prussians had invaded Paris. So I'm saying all that to declare that it wasn't "La Belle Époque" yet, since it was in late 1880s and the whole 1890 decade it happened. But the influence of Queen Victoria, the puritanical manners had spread across Europe and even North America, France included. It was a very codified society, and you can see it very well in _Gone With the Wind_. (By the way, I integrated a few elements of it in this phanfic. Where? I'll let you find them. XD) So it doesn't only apply to subjects of the Queen, but to the stereotype of the perfect lady back then. It's a term that we would use today to describe Céleste, for instance, but she wouldn't use it herself.

(Pour la traduction, je serai très heureuse de vous aider, sans problème! Je vous ai envoyé d'ailleurs un petit PM à ce sujet… ;) )

Talking about that, I'm thinking of eventually translating _Let It Go_ in French…. It will be better written, I think… XD

What was the Phantom doing while Céleste was sitting in his lair? Well, you'll see in this chapter… ;)

I giggled a bit when you said silk was more practical than velvet. Just like that, in the movie, I thought it was velvet. But it made me think of the debate about the Phantom's mask. Some say it's made of leather, others say it's made of porcelain, some even say it's plastic (*face-palm*)… I would say leather since it is more practical (and porcelain is pretty fragile). But I think it's the biggest debate about POTO after "Who does Christine love?" XD

About the mistake I did about "pans". I. AM. SO. ASHAMED. OF. MYSELF. Often, a few French words slip out accidently here and there, and this one stayed there after I reread myself. Gosh.

Well, I do recommend to you Susan Kay's _Phantom_. It retraces Erik's entire life and it's very interesting. I did modify a few elements so he can be younger in this fanfic. The events went along quicker than in Kay's book. Only, my only reticence in it is when Christine comes in… Personally, I would have stopped the story at the moment Leroux's story starts, because mostly, it's E/C fangirling, and it isn't faithful to Leroux's novel. And since Kay is writing a Leroux-based phanfic (though it does have a few ALW elements here and there), it sort of annoyed me. What I changed also was when Erik ran away from the gypsies. In the book, he manages all alone after, but in my fanfic, he is helped by Mme Giry (like in the 2004 movie). The part of his childhood at the Opera Populaire comes also from me.

"He has lived hell but has the pride of an emperor" comes from me. ;)

To explain La Parilla's poetic punishment… It comes almost directly from the Bible and a bit from the legend of Tristan and Isolde. For Céleste, La Parilla's vice is lust, which is (with greediness) a vice of the flesh, and since she's physically provocative, well, the sort of "leprosy" she has looks like a divine punishment. For Jews in Ancient times (I don't know if it's still the case today), leprosy was a divine punishment, mostly because of lust. And Isolde, when she is caught with Tristan the first time by King Marc, is condemned to spend the rest of her life with lepers and become one herself.

About what you said about Erik who has to break the legend about him being a ghost, well, I think Paris knows he's a man of flesh and blood since Christine unmasked him on scene (to me)… except Herr Schmidt the medium who can feel negative waves and knows there is something. XD (Don't worry, you'll see him soon.)

About him dishonouring Céleste and slipping into his bedchamber… I know the situation I imagined would never happen, but I giggled a bit imagining the scene… Erik slipping in the room, then suddenly, screams who can be heard across Céleste's door… And the next day, the maid comes in, to see Erik all tied up and Céleste with a frying pan (Rapunzel style) standing proudly in front of him. Of course, it's a BIG caricature. But it was fun imagining that. XD

For Céleste being spirited enough, I meant "quick-witted". The Daroga, who considers the hypothesis that her family could team up with Soliman to get rid of Erik for good, wants to get him at least one ally. ;) So that's why he tells her everything.

**NaaraHatake: **OMG thank you so much! I'm so so so happy to hear that. Making people live emotions is the purpose of every author, I think, and knowing I made you feel every emotion is really touching me.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Most unfortunately for Céleste (and that was to talk in a delicate way), it wouldn't be the last time she would meet Soliman. When Christine and Raoul came back from Perros-Guirec, happy of their little trip in Britanny and hoping that their pilgrimage to Sainte Anne's sanctuary in Auray would be beneficial for their soon-to-grow family, it took very little time before Philippe introduced them to Soliman, who had even declared, much to Céleste's dismay, that he was settling in Paris for good. Raoul was very quickly charmed by the Shah's brother's charisma. He always had a good story to tell, and, though his appearance was very foreign, he had the true manners of an Occidental gentleman.

Christine, on the other hand, seemed rather intimidated by Soliman. She had never been much of a chatterbox, but now, she remained totally silent when he was around. Did she know something about Soliman's past with Erik? Céleste couldn't tell, and she would probably never know, since Christine wasn't at all one of her confidants. There were times where Soliman would talk to the Vicomtesse, inserting in it a few of his stupid Oriental-style compliments. Christine would then blush, lift down her eyes somehow nervously, like a gazelle knowing a lion is after her.

But there were also times where Céleste wished to be in Christine's place. Soliman was truly almost only paying attention to her when he visited and that she was present at the same time at her brothers' home. But the worse was that Philippe seemed even pleased of those attentions. Céleste remembered what her brother had told her just before she had moved into her own establishment: that she would be settled soon.

Did he plan to unite her with Soliman?

A stranger?

This couldn't be possible.

But the more the time went, the more this situation became possible for Céleste, since Soliman's visits were becoming more and more frequent.

Meanwhile, Christmas was coming. Mlle de Chagny hadn't forgotten at all the Stradivarius the Phantom had given her: every day, she practiced her violin, like if she still had her lessons. She had got herself a few music sheets, which were mainly traditional Christmas songs. Of course, they weren't as elaborate as what she had practiced before with Erik, but it was quite relaxing to play them. And often, she opened the door of her room, letting the servants hear her music, which filled their mornings with pleasure.

As the holidays were approaching, Céleste was thinking even more of Erik. Did he have any company on Christmas Eve? She wondered if Mme Giry at least organized a little something so he wouldn't be too alone. For a moment, Céleste wanted to do "a little something", but would Erik be pleased of it? She couldn't say. Maybe it was better to just leave him alone, and follow what the Daroga had instructed her to do, even if it was sometimes hard.

She knew that, like each year, the Opera Populaire was organizing its New Year Masquerade Ball. Certainly, Firmin and André were crossing their fingers so the Phantom wouldn't make an unexpected apparition. She also knew that La Parilla was still in her functions; Céleste didn't dare to imagine how Firmin and André convinced her to stay… Or maybe was it Herr Schmidt's wallet that helped.

Many times, Céleste wished to get herself a pass for the Masquerade Ball, prepare herself a costume and go there, anonymous, hoping that, hidden in the other masks, he would be there. Why did she want to see him? She had no idea. She just had to.

"Mademoiselle? A package arrived for you."

Céleste raised her eyes to see Annette with a big parcel in her arms. Intrigued, she thanked the maid with a smile, seized a pair of scissors from her work-bag which wasn't too far away and cut the wrapping paper, revealing a box that she opened quickly, in a bit of a childish eagerness.

The first thing which caught her sight was a rose. It looked just like the one she had received just before the performance of _Sleeping Beauty_. A rose of a bloody red color, with a black ribbon tied around it. It was laid on an envelope that Céleste took and opened, without peering at what was under it. Inside, to her great surprise, there was a pass for the Masquerade Ball at the Opera Populaire, and the dance card where usually, ladies could note which of their beaux reserved this or that dance. A note, written in a very familiar spidery handwriting, was accompanying the pass and the card.

_Wear the dress you have received to the New Year Masquerade Ball. I'll be there. _

_O.G. _

Immediately, Céleste look again in the box, to see a shiny fabric, in a shade of icy blue. Slowly, she grabbed it, to reveal a dress, a dress which style reminded her of those dresses _à la française_ from the 1730-1740's… But the sleeves, and the long cape embroidered with snowflakes and sewed on the dress' back were made of an almost transparent fabric and gave it an ethereal appearance. Céleste smiled. It reminded her of her childhood, when Gustave Daaé was telling them the story of the Snow Queen. She used to imagine her wearing exactly the dress she was holding.

A blue mask, in the same shade as the costume, and with a few strips of silver, was accompanying it. Immediately, like a little girl who had just received clothing for Christmas and just had to try it up right away, Céleste rushed to her room to try it all. She threw away her dark green dress as soon as she took it off (and never had it seemed so dull), and she almost had trouble putting the Snow Queen costume on since she was trembling of excitement. And finally, she set the mask on her face, completing her disguise.

Céleste headed towards her mirror, looking at the final result. But immediately, the first thing she noticed was that something was not right. And her head was the problem.

To be more precise, it was her hair. All tied up as a bun, as it was arranged usually, it seemed somehow awkward and disgraceful with her costume. Hesitantly, she removed a pin, and then another, and another, until there was only her braid floating freely on her shoulder. The effect was perfect, now.

Well, with a braid as only hairstyle, it was quite indecent. You usually wore that for bedtime… But a bun… it was just not right either way. Besides, who would recognize her? She was still a maiden, anyway, and she could permit herself to let her hair down her back.

Why was she always making a bun, anyway?

Céleste admired the whole effect. It was perfect. She was almost surprised of her own appearance. The Snow Queen she had imagined when she was a little girl had materialized just in front of her… How did Erik know?

Thinking of him brought brutally back to reality. Why did the Phantom want her at the Masquerade Ball, especially with the actual situation with Soliman?

Was it a trap?

Really, he had more important things to think of.

After hours of meditating about all this in her room, her door shut, which was a signal for the servants that she wished to be left alone, Céleste had still no idea of what was the Phantom planning.

_Why not just go to the Masquerade Ball? _

Really, why couldn't she?

Yes, it was quite imprudent of her to accept. But her curiosity, which we could qualify of being quite feminine without being ourselves too much misogynous, won.

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><p>Christmas Eve came, and of course, Céleste spent it with her brothers and Christine. They all went to the midnight mass, where Philippe listened to the music more than he prayed, Raoul prayed for Christine and their future child, Céleste prayed for her family, prayed so Soliman would change his plans and leave Paris, and also, prayed for the man hiding in the undergrounds of the Opera Populaire.<p>

And what about Christine? She was praying for Raoul, her one love, she was praying for her child who would plunge into the world when nature would wake up again… But for a moment, her thoughts went to the man who, once, had been her Angel of Music. Where was he, now? She had moments of melancholy where she thought of him. She still felt it had been cruel of leaving him, alone, but she knew that life with him would have been unbearable, because of his love which would have always stayed unrequited. Sometimes, at night, when she woke up and looked at Raoul snoring, a fond smile would appear on her face. She knew that she had made the best choice possible. All was left for her to do was to hope that God, for once, would be merciful with the Phantom of the Opera.

Knowing that she wasn't the only one to care for Erik would have certainly given comfort to her, on this night where, nearly two thousand years ago, an infant had, by his only birth, brought hope to God's people. But Christine would have never guessed by herself who it was!

But as soon as Christmas Eve was over, Céleste realized how quickly the days passed. The Masquerade Ball was set for the evening of December 30th. And when the day came, from the very moment she got up, until Annette was helping her to get ready, (and yes, arranging her hair in a braid and not a bun) the day passed in a sort of childlike excitement because of the awareness that she had no idea of what was going to happen that night. But, as the maid said, cheerily: "All done! And I must say you truly look beautiful, mademoiselle!" A very cool shower fell on Céleste's mind.

Why was she doing this?

It was so stupid.

But she had to know. She had to.

_Little prying Pandora. _

She felt more and more tensed as she got in the carriage, all tucked up in her fur coat to keep herself warm, since the night was very cold, almost crushing her pass and her dance card on her chest. As she arrived in front of the Opera Populaire, all illuminated for the occasion, she got rid of her coat, since anyway, she didn't have much of a distance to cover. She slipped her dance card in her sleeve, showing it a bit on the top of her wrist, and seized her pass, which she gave at a valet dressed up in an eighteenth-century style. And, as she entered the great hall, she looked above, and was strangely reassured, as she looked around her and recognized no one. Conclusion, if she didn't recognize anyone, no one (except one person) would know she was there. There was no turning back, now, and muttering about her foolish behavior would arrange nothing.

She looked around her, trying to find Erik among all the masks which were surrounding her. Suddenly, a voice she knew well made its sound behind her:

"I believe you have dropped this, mademoiselle."

Céleste turned swiftly towards the inquirer. It was Erik. His very annoying mocking smile was so easy to recognize. His half-mask was replaced by a… normal mask. He was dressed up all in black, as usual, except that his jacket and tie did show more elegance than usual. Well, black did fit him well. His "costume" was rather plain, compared to hers or all the other ones she could see in the ballroom. But Erik, more than ever, had the deamanor and carrying of a king, his green-golden eyes flashing more than ever of malice, in such a way you could forget all the dullness of his dress.

Céleste, finally, lifted down her eyes to what he was holding out to her. It was her dance card.

"But… that's impossible… It was right there in my sleeve and…"

She quickly reached towards her wrist, to see it indeed was gone. _There goes my feeling of security. _

Her eyes still wide, she muttered a quick word of gratitude and opened it… to see that a certain O.G., in a spidery handwriting, had for every dance. Céleste lifted up her eyes, ironic and exasperated at the same time.

"Seriously?"

Erik shrugged, while Mlle de Chagny smiled, knowing exactly how to pay him back in the way of his own coin.

"Well, I at least hope you know how to dance."

"Of course," Erik replied, looking offended, though a twinkle could be seen in his eyes.

"And don't you remember that for your own safety, I'm not supposed to be here, anymore?" Céleste continued immediately. She wanted to have the truth about all this.

"No one will recognize you, and anyway, I can't even tell myself where those two fools who call themselves managers are." After a brief pause, he continued. "You see?" Erik pointed up the hall's stairs, showing Céleste Herr Schmidt, without a mask, sticking his ear on the wall, concentrated, with a stick in his hand, with which he was knocking softly on the wall.

"He thinks that with that stick, he'll be able to find me," the Phantom muttered. "I heard him say that to the managers. Good thing he has that wallet of his. I think Firmin and André would have called for the asylum long ago."

A light smile appeared on Céleste's lips. It was the best she could do from retaining herself from laughing. She headed towards Herr Schmidt, followed closely by Erik.

"May I know what are you doing, monsieur?" Céleste slightly changed her voice, so Herr Schmidt would have more trouble recognizing her.

"Ach, I'm looking for the Opera Ghost!" He answered eagerly. "You see this stick? It's just like a dowsing rod! It can feel the aura given off by ghosts. But it isn't shaking here… I guess he's somewhere else."

Without further ado, Herr Schmidt headed towards the stairs, so thrilled he collided with Erik, accidently.

"Oh, excuse me," he shouted, before rushing down the stairs, as fast as his belly could permit him from doing so. He couldn't see behind him Céleste trying very hard not to laugh, and Erik lifting up an eye brow with a sarcastic smile.

"I think that stick of his might be… broken." Erik said. Though he didn't laugh, Céleste could feel a certain joyful amusement in his voice, which was strangely comforting to her. She knew that it was the best time to confront him about his projects on her… though it was somehow heartbreaking to stop it all so brutally. But it was necessary.

"You didn't answer my question. Why am I here?"

For a moment, the Phantom's glare fell on her harshly, like if he was struggling for or against something. But Céleste didn't tremble. But soon, he recovered a certain arrogant casualness.

"Well, I was not going to snivel in the undergrounds all alone while there was that ball. I thought of many people to go with… But you seemed the only one available and capable of accepting such a thing."

Céleste retained herself from staring at him disbelievingly. Why did she had that little feeling he had made her come here just to see her again? It was such a risky enterprise. And that was pretty much the only explanation she could find to all of this.

But soon, the sound of violins tuning interrupted their confrontation. Without further ado, Erik presented his hand (gloved, as usual) to Céleste, who seized it almost in a daredevil way, and the rather strange pair (at least, for those who knew who were hiding beneath the masks) headed towards the ball room, where the dancers where taking place.

Well, at the end of the waltz which opened the ball, Céleste had to admit that Erik was rather a good dancer. She thought of all those dim-witted "daddy's little boys" noblemen she had to dance with when she went to other parties, in order to please Philippe and his marital projects which, thankfully, had no outcome until now. It was such a relief not to feel any feet on hers. At the beginning, she did have a bit of a mental gasp when Erik posed his hand on her shoulder, and she could feel he was also a bit nervous when she put her hand on his waist. But soon, this uneasiness disappeared, and the two actually felt quite trouble-free. And those who could observe them dance could sense all the etherealness coming from Céleste. Her steps where so light, that it was like she was floating, and the Snow Queen dress could only but increase the effect.

But, as they waltzed round the room for the last time, a shocking appearance caught Céleste's eye. And, as the violins played the last note, she murmured, keeping her teeth tight:

"Look behind you. But not too quickly. Don't drag the attention on you."

Expressionless, Erik turned towards the direction Céleste was looking, in such a relaxed way it seemed quite natural. And, besides his jaw which tightened, he didn't tremble one bit, when he saw who had caught the young woman's eye.

It was Soliman, standing proudly in the hall's entrance, unmasked, in a victor's pose. His eyes were gazing everywhere. And immediately, Céleste and Erik instinctively knew that in one blink, he could unmask them all.

Always as naturally, Erik invited Céleste to take his arm, which she took without the reticence she would have normally showed. It was a case of desperate measures, after all. Like if nothing had happened, they headed out of the ball room, almost running away from Soliman, hoping that the crowd that was around them would hide them. But they were close enough to hear Firmin shout: "Ah! Finally! Here is our new patron!"

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><p>Almost like a too confident child, Céleste let Erik guide her through the Opera house. They finally arrived in the auditorium, where he guided her towards the wings and dragged her to stairs at the back. Quickly, they climbed them, to reach a door that Erik opened. And, to Céleste's amazed eyes, the back of the Apollo's lyre sculpture revealed itself to her as she got out, Erik letting her pass and closing the door behind them. They were on the Opera Populaire's roof. Big snowflakes were falling lazily on the roof's floor, forming a seemingly fluffy carpet, and just adding to the night's enchantment.<p>

But soon, Céleste drew herself reluctantly out of her reverie to more practical thoughts.

"Why did you bring me here? Did… did you know that he was becoming a patron?" By _he_, Céleste meant of course Soliman.

"Of course not. If I knew, I wouldn't have taken such a risk to make you come tonight." Erik was still very well self-controlled, but his gaze was wondering everywhere, like if he was looking for something insignificant to give him an idea.

"Why did you make me come here, anyway?"

Erik sighed, slightly exasperated. "I… wanted you to have this."

While he was talking, he took out sheets of paper all rolled and tied with a black ribbon, which he handed to Céleste. Gently, she took them, untied the ribbon and unrolled them, to reveal a handwritten music sheet. It was an aria for a solo violin. Immediately, Céleste knew he had composed it all for her.

"You composed that… for me?" For a moment, she had forgotten all about Soliman and the other worries. Hope had entered her heart… though she couldn't really tell why. But for now, she wasn't asking herself any questions.

"Yes."

"That's so… so kind, well, no, it's… more than that." Céleste stammered. That was the first time since… well, since a very long time; so long she couldn't even remember when it happened for the last time that she was hesitating like that. Usually, she was so self-confident… Then, the sudden thought that she had come here, her hands empty, slapped her instantly. She remembered how she thought of Erik when she was preparing for the holidays, about him being so alone on Christmas Eve… She could have at least brought a little something herself.

"I'm sorry, I wished I had something to give you myself and…"

"You came, while you had every reason not to do so. It's more than enough," Erik interrupted her.

Surprised of such an answer, Céleste lifted up her eyes at the level of Erik's. And, for a moment, they both lost themselves into each other's gaze. But suddenly, a gust brought them back to reality, and to their problems.

"Well, he has probably guessed you were hiding here," started Céleste. "He has probably decided to become a patron so he could investigate without being disturbed. He has talked many times how much he loves the arts, but…"

"How do you know that?" The sternness in Erik's voice almost made Céleste jump. _Me and my big mouth. Now he'll know Soliman is a friend to my brothers. But… is it really a bad thing?_

"Soliman has befriended Philippe, and also Raoul. And I'm often afraid that eventually, they might team up to track you down, and the Daroga at the same time."

Erik nodded his head, absently. "Did… did Soliman tried to approach you in any way?" He asked suddenly. "You or… Christine?" he added, somehow repugnantly.

A flash of anger strucked Céleste. _Now he's worrying about his precious Christine. How wonderful. _Wait… was she jealous? No way.

Really?

"Well, he does make a few compliments to Christine from time to time, but that's all. I must say he has paid a lot more attention to me, and so much I sometimes feel uneasy. And Philippe even seems to encourage him." A certain triumphant inner-satisfaction overcame her. It was ridiculous, but it was still there.

Erik's reaction could only raise it. His self-control shield was starting to crack, and Céleste could see very clearly that his jaw was even more tightened and that his hands were trembling.

"He didn't… touch you?" he asked.

"No, of course not," Céleste answered quickly, shocked. And suddenly, she wondered why he even bothered about it. Wasn't she the sister of his worst enemy? Wasn't he, a few months ago, ready to use her in such a horrible way for his revenge? Was the next thing he was going to say was to tell her he was going to protect her or something? The conversation seemed to be heading towards such a declaration. She wanted him to get clear about all this. That was what a man of honor usually did. Well, Erik, though he had the manners and the appearance of one, wasn't really what we could call a gentleman. But when you entered Céleste de Chagny's world, you had to at least submit to a few little rules.

"Well, about him touching me, I beg your pardon, but I'm surprised that you seem so attentive to my own safety. After all, you know from where I come, don't you?" She was talking, of course, about her family, and more especially Raoul.

Céleste's question struck Erik violently. She was right. But everything, in the last weeks, had been so confusing. Yes, he was still thinking of Christine from time to time, but it was becoming all so blurry and it didn't cause him much of the pain it used to be. Still, he cursed Raoul, but what he didn't realize, it was that he was now cursing him because his own resentment which, all his life, had been deep-rooted for all of those who dared to insult him or hurt him in a way or another, even if the insult or hurt was far away, and cured or made up for for a very long time.

From time to time, when he was thinking of Céleste (and it became more and more often), he was totally forgetting about her family. Anyway, she seemed so different of her brothers. Raoul and Philippe (at least, for the little he had seen of the elder) were perfect gentlemen without making any efforts to do so. Perfectly… perfect. They seemed trapped in their little world, and nothing seemed to be able to disturb it. Life had to be dreadfully boring. Well, that was at least to Erik's point of view.

But Céleste seemed to be made of another material. Yes, she had the appearance of the perfect lady, and she played her part quite well. But from the first time he had met her face to face, he knew she was much more than that. There was a side to her that had been vigorously contained not just by herself, but mostly because of her family and the society that was more invading her than surrounding her. And it wasn't only her amazing talent in music. It was her whole person.

"Yes," Erik finally answered. "I know who you are. I probably know you better than your fop of a brother." He came closer to Céleste, in an almost menacing way. But she didn't blink one bit. "I'll never forget the time where you just came up to me and shouted at me, while your life was in danger by doing such a thing. Didn't your brother tell you about the Punjab lasso?" A very light smile, indecipherable, appeared on Erik's lips. "It could have come out anytime, hey? I have one on me right now, as I always do. An ordinary lady would have never put herself in such a situation and would have gone crying to her father, brother, husband or whatever. But no. You didn't do anything like that. It seems like you can manage very well on your own."

It was true. Since she had left the convent, Céleste had been everything but a "good girl". Her pride, and probably more especially her independent spirit had prevented her from doing the most reasonable thing: warning Philippe and Raoul about what was happening. Since her childhood, Céleste had considered with great contempt those princesses in distress in fairytales who always needed a knight in shining armor to get them out of trouble, while the solution was almost skipping to their eyes. Had she been so marked by this impression that it influenced her present behavior?

But she didn't regret anything. Nor the past, nor the present.

And now, in this dreadful situation, it seemed like Erik had now the most unexpected of allies imaginable.

Céleste smiled at the thought of it, and lifted up her head.

"Then I guess that for where Soliman is concerned, we are allies?"

"Indeed we are," he answered.

"So what must we do?"

Neither of them answered. Really, for now, they had no idea, since the whole situation had caught them on surprise.

"Maybe it's too soon to determine. I'll keep an eye on Soliman when he comes to my brothers' home. Especially that he has told nothing about our encounter at the Opera Populaire. I think he probably has a plan. I'll try to inform you of what seems important to me, as discreetly as I can," Céleste finally said. "Just… don't do anything imprudent."

"Neither do you." Erik said, with the shadow of a smile.

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><p><strong>Answers to reviews:<strong>

**PhantomFan01:** Dun dun dun indeed. XD My inspiration for Céleste comes a lot from Elsa in Frozen. There are little elements from Eowyn in Lord of the Rings (Basically this quote: "What do you fear, my lady?" "A cage. Staying enclosed in it until wear and old age accept it." (By memory, I think it goes like that. XD)), and a little tinsy winsy bit of Scarlett O'Hara. I'll let you find how. ;)

*sings* AND IT'S BACK, NOW, THE MUSIC OF THE NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT! XD

**inujisan:** I'm basing myself on the Disney version. ;) I know the original (by Hans Christian Andersen) isn't at all the same thing… So let's just say Frozen is the original and that Andersen made his own version of it. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean:** Soliman? He's a total sociopath. XD Based on Joffrey Baratheon, the kid every GoT fan likes to hate. XD

**TheCrimsonPen:** About the future of Céleste and Soliman… Well… You'll see. (Mwahahaha!) I'll try to Punjab Philippe so he won't do it, though. XD

**Erik's Guest:** Glad to hear you're not just here for the fluff! XD Paris' underground does give me an idea for a future phanfic in an AU… Look at my profile, there will be a little resume. ;) And I think Erik is already sort of "in love" with Céleste… But he isn't totally realizing it yet. ;)


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: Simply… how's a good phic without Meg? **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

Even after many days, what happened just after their discussion on the Opera Populaire's roof still seemed so blurry to Céleste. She remembered that the Phantom had brought her back inside, guided her through a secret passageway which was in the theater, and brought her directly to the entrance without passing through the ballroom (and at the same time, without meeting Soliman). Immediately, they both headed towards a valet, who got instructed by Céleste of warning her coachman that she was ready to leave. But, as soon as she was done giving her command to the boy, she realized that Erik, without further ceremony, had left.

Of course, he couldn't permit himself from staying around for very long.

But he could have at least said a word of goodbye.

As she settled herself in her carriage, Céleste looked at bit at the music sheet she had received from Erik. Remembering also that she was supposed to have her ball notebook with her, she tried to find it… Without success.

Her name was written in it. What if someone saw all the "O.G." in it? What if Soliman came to find it?

Well, that was unlikely to happen, anyway. And someone who would find "O.G." in a ball notebook would probably think it was just some bad joke.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Céleste tried to forget all about her evening, at least for a while. But one image was always still presenting itself to her: the sight she had when, for a moment, Erik and herself had lost themselves into each other's gaze. When she had read into his eyes, so brown they were almost black, her mouth had started to slightly open, like if it was ready to have a kiss… So did his. But it didn't happen.

And now, she sort of regretted it.

Why did she?

They had no possible future, anyway. And there was no need to say why.

She giggled to stop thinking about all this. Now, she was thinking in such a "novelette" style.

But even with her self-mockery and her determination to really stop thinking about it, it wouldn't fade away.

As she got out of the carriage, entered her house and headed to her room, she looked again at the music sheet she had received. She had to look at it. Now. Immediately, she got out her violin, placed the sheets on her music stand, and started playing.

As she went through the aria, it soon made her think of a snow storm. She played, her fingers running on the strings, and smiled, wondering how Erik had found the resemblance between herself and the Snow Queen, her favorite fairytale character when she was still a little girl. With passion, she attacked the notes, imagining that each of them was all her worries. No, nothing could stop her now. Not a storm, not a Soliman, not a Philippe, not a Raoul, not a Christine.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Céleste was quite surprised to wake up early, since the last night had been quite occupied. She started her day as usual: getting washed and dressed, taking her usual very-French breakfast composed of hot chocolate and croissants. It was during her meal that Annette came in to tell her:<p>

"Mademoiselle, a young lady wishes to see you. I told her you were taking your breakfast, but she said it was urgent. She said her name is Marguerite Giry… Does it mean anything to you?"

"Yes, of course," Céleste said with a smile. "Tell her to come in, and get breakfast for her, too."

Annette bowed and quickly got out of the dining-room, leaving Céleste wondering why Meg Giry wanted to see her. She had hardly seen her while she was at the Opera Populaire, and even less talked to her… But as the young ballerina entered, Céleste was very soon torn away from her thoughts and turned to Meg with a smile.

"Mademoiselle Giry! How nice to see you! Have you got any breakfast?"

"I had a bit of bread, mademoiselle, I'm fine."

"Oh, well, I've asked for a breakfast for you… It will be more substantial than that piece of bread."

With a smile and a quick bow, Meg thanked Céleste who soon invited the dancer to sit down. The petite blonde spent a few minutes silent, until Annette arrived with hot chocolate and croissants. Céleste wasn't too surprised of this quietness, knowing that she was probably waiting for them to have more privacy. She could guess very well of what they were going to talk about…

"Please leave us alone, now, Annette," Mlle de Chagny asked, "and make sure no one comes to disturb us while Mademoiselle Giry is here."

When the maid finally got out, Meg turned to Céleste.

"My mother and _he _have sent me here," the ballerina started, insisting a bit on the _he_. Céleste retained herself from smiling. Meg said it in the same way her mother did, except her voice was like a bell, compared to Mme Giry's contralto. "They have asked me to act as an intermediary between him and yourself. I'll come here regularly, two times a week. Maman would have done it, but she doesn't have much time to herself since she's the ballet mistress. And I don't think _he _will have the occasion of coming to see you directly."

Céleste nodded her head with a smile, which Meg returned. Already, she felt she could trust the little ballerina.

"I'm happy to see that I have gotten higher in my mother's trust," continued Meg. "Just before, she wouldn't tell me anything, which put me in a rage. It was to protect me, but – you may laugh, mademoiselle – I'm not a child, anymore! And I think my mother has finally realized it."

"Oh, don't worry, I can understand very well," Céleste laughed as she talked, feeling truly relaxed with Meg.

"There was one time when I almost got to his lair… I had entered Christine's room while she wasn't there, one night, just after the _Hannibal _performance… and the mirror was slightly open. I had started to walk through the corridor, but my mother came in and got me out. I'll let you imagine the sermon which was awaiting me…"

Céleste giggled with Meg especially when she saw her little exasperated look, but her thoughts were somewhere else. She was thinking of that night which had followed _Hannibal_, remembering what Raoul had told her about it. Christine had been in the Phantom's lair… And though her brother had assured her that the young girl hadn't been "touched" (in the rough sense of the word), Céleste had never been convinced of it. The shadow of a cynical smile appeared on her lips, a smile which Meg took notice.

"I think you don't like Christine very much, do you?" She said, without any ceremony.

Céleste lifted her head, surprised of the question. "How do you know that?" Immediately, she scolded herself. Her reaction had been so impulsive she had unwillingly revealed a part of her thoughts which she had always kept carefully hidden. But a kind smile had appeared on Meg's face.

"It's alright. I know what it is to be jealous of her. I've been jealous of her myself, though she's my friend."

"Really? Well, anyway, how do you assume that I'm jealous of her? It's simply because my brother did a misalliance by…"

"Well," interrupted Meg, "she had the opportunity of becoming a great prima donna and to marry the man she loves, especially that he's rich and that he loves her too. Who wouldn't want that? But I've did quite well since then. I'm a soloist dancer, now, and I even replace La Sorelli from time to time. I remember that sometimes, I've wanted to be a prima donna – because, you know, my voice isn't too bad (she giggled), but now, I'm happy as I am."

"But… you were staying friends with Christine?" Céleste carefully asked, not wanting to add the possibility that this friendship could have been somewhat interested.

"I was friends with her because somehow, she needed me. Christine isn't at all a bad person. Though, sometimes, I complained to myself about her being so passive. But she has lost her father, and she suffered about it until Raoul – your brother – came. I couldn't leave her alone. I was happy for her, and I wanted her to know that… But the rest, all the bad things, I've kept that for me."

Céleste smiled, and gently took Meg's hand. "Then you have more heart than me, Mademoiselle Giry."

"Then, I think we are friends then?" asked the ballerina cheerfully.

"No need to ask."

* * *

><p>The same evening, it was New Year's Eve, and Philippe was throwing a party where, of course, Céleste was invited. Immediately, as she entered, she not only saluted Philippe and Raoul, but also Christine, determined, if not to befriend her (which she didn't feel quite ready for), to at least kinder to her. The lights and the smiles on every guest's face produced a very communicative joy, which gained Céleste without any difficulty… until she saw that Soliman was one of the guests.<p>

Desperately, she tried everything to avoid him: talking to people she knew, even going to the bathroom until the limits of decency forbid it, but, just before the countdown to midnight started, while Céleste was walking through the room, looking very occupied, she heard Philippe calling her: "Céleste!" And, as she turned around, to see him with Soliman, she closed her eyes. Now, she couldn't escape anymore.

With a smile, she approached the two men, hiding her feelings so well it didn't seem at all like she felt some French Revolution victim going to the guillotine.

"Céleste," Philippe started, "Soliman wishes to ask you something."

The young lady, by her brother's too-smiling attitude, knew a bit too well what he meant. It was almost totally numb that she followed Soliman to a living-room which was nearby, and listened very passively to what he was telling her and asking her. To resume everything, it was pretty much what she had feared for so long: he was asking her in marriage.

She just felt energetic enough to say the expected answer, and she truly thanked God for the existence of this sentence: it was just enough to calm down an undesirable suitor, and it was perfectly decent for someone you did want to share your life with. Of course, for Céleste, she said more for the first option… But she knew it would be Philippe, in the end, who would decide. And for the first time, she wasn't at all agreeing with her brother. Always, she had said to herself that Philippe did things for the best, but now… it was different.

"Monsieur, I am very honored by your demand, but… this is so unexpected. I think I truly need time to think."

"Take the time you need, mademoiselle," Soliman said softly, getting closer to Céleste, who congealed. But, as the Shah's brother hand gently posed on her shoulder and started caressing her arm, she withdrew quickly, and stared at Soliman intently. For a minute, they were watching themselves, like two duelists preparing for a fight to the death. And finally, with a sneer, Soliman headed slowly towards the door, leaving Céleste alone, trembling.

"Oh, just before, mademoiselle," the man said, his hand on the door knob. "Don't go chitchat too much to your siblings, hmm? Your younger brother is, I think, more than fed up with the Angel of Death, which seemingly isn't your case… I don't think Philippe and Raoul would appreciate to know that I saw you, that night and…"

"You are a monster."

Céleste didn't feel any fear to interrupt Soliman and to tell him such a thing. Anyway, besides his threats, he wouldn't attack her or something like that… Or would he?

"You can insult me as much as you want, mademoiselle, especially that anger fits you well. But it won't change anything. The Angel of Death may boast that he always wins, but it's false. _I_ always win," he finally said, insisting on the "I", before getting out of the room, leaving Céleste, sick at heart, behind.

Breathing in to gain back colors on her face, and trying very hard to have a light smile, remembering Soliman's threats, she got out quite calmly of the living-room, to meet, on the very first sight, Christine looking at her, a sadden and somehow understanding look on her face. Céleste turned away her face, bitter. What, Madame-I-Have-A-Perfect-Life was giving her the wonderful present of her pity?

A tear fell on Céleste's cheek. Meg was right. She was jealous.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Mwahahaha. *out***

**If some of you want to hear the aria Erik has composed for Céleste, listen to the orchestral version of **_**Elements**_** by Lindsey Stirling. Ignore the modern musical background, and just listen to the violin. It really makes me think of a snow storm… Though the video's theme is actually the Dracula TV series. But anyway… XD**

**Answers to reviews:**

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Leprosy starts with the fact that the leper doesn't feel anything anymore, and then brownish black spots spread everywhere… Then parts of the body come off. ;) I know it because recently, I've been reading a novel on Baudoin IV of Jerusalem… He was a French king reigning on the Holy Land (in Israel) in the Middle Ages (about 1170-1180), when the Crusaders were occupying it, and a descendant of Godefroi de Bouillon. And he was a leper. An amazing figure of the Crusades, who won an amazing victory with five hundred knights against thirty thousand Arabian warriors. He truly disserves to be discovered.

"But he didn't have to know that Erik was still there, so his life would be put in danger" I'm talking about Erik's life. ;)

About the "good lady varnish". I think it's an "only French" expression. It can have the same sense as "shell" or perhaps even "disguise". Translated, it would be "sa façade de bonne demoiselle"

About the Daroga living for a moment in Erik's lair… Well, let's just say I'm basing myself on ALW events and not Leroux events. And during the musical, the Daroga wasn't there. He arrived in Paris after the events. And let's just say he has accepted that Nadir could hide for a moment in his lair since he does owe him big time: after all, the Daroga did save his life when they were in Persia!

And I think Soliman does indeed know a bit too much for Céleste's and Erik's sakes, indeed… Mwahahaha. XD

**TheCrimsonPen: **Yes, allies or more. (*Sighs*) And the fluff is only starting. XD

**Erik's guest: **I did thought of giving them an intimate moment, but I thought it was a bit too soon… Maybe I was wrong.

But anyway, I like to make everybody wait. XD

**PhantomFan01: **Actually, I don't think Erik made the dress, but that he ordered it (like I think he did for Christine's wedding dress), because, I dunno, I don't see him sewing or anything… And I must admit that reading your comment made me imagine Erik knitting multicolored socks, and it was pretty funny… XD

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thanks. ;)

**PhantomLilac: **Haha, I think everyone wanted them to kiss. XD But don't worry, I have the kissing scene already in my head and I think you'll be all there in front of your computer screaming and crying at the same time.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Of course, it was an established fact that people who had celebrated New Year's Eve slept during the day of January 1st. It was the case for many – except Céleste. So many faces were marching in her mind: Soliman's almost sadistic grin, Christine's annoying sadden puppy face, Philippe's and Raoul's cheerful smiles, where you could read all the ignorance of what had truly happened, Meg's childish cherub face, the Daroga and Mme Giry's serious countenances, and, more especially, Erik's half-hidden features, which, strangely, became somehow comforting in Céleste's struggles to forget everything for a few hours and simply go to sleep. Though now, she didn't feel safe at all, except when she thought of Erik. Yes, he was a man in the flesh, and the young lady knew his story well enough to be aware of that. But in some way, he did resemble an angel in so many manners: probably not an angel of God, but neither an angel coming from Hell.

Yes, Céleste had never wanted, and still didn't want to be some damsel in distress. Her origins could prove it very well. Isabelle de Chagny, willingly, had followed the Crusaders in 1098, bearing all the suffering and privations which came on the very difficult trip to Jerusalem, surviving her younger brother Hugues, who died of the plague, to receive the extreme reward of seeing a Christian flag, after a great battle led by Godefroi de Bouillon, float on the Holy City. Hermine de Bassompierre, Comtesse de Chagny by marriage, had resisted a Burgundian siege of five hundred men with only a hundred on her side, while her husband was absent, during the Hundred Years War. And, during the French Revolution, Marie-Angélique de Chagny, during the wars in Vendee, had join the little Royalist forces battling for the imprisoned King and had even fought on La Rochejacquelin and Charette's sides.

Yes, she came from a family where the women knew what they wanted and were never afraid of defending themselves or their beliefs. But somehow, you always need a guardian angel, don't you? Yes, a guardian angel, even dark. And, even after all what happened between her family and Erik, Céleste knew that she could trust who Soliman called the Angel of Death.

In a certain way, yes, Erik was like a ghost. Ghosts were wandering souls, condemned never to taste the delights of Heaven, but at the same time, spared by Hell. And even Purgatory didn't want them. A duality was existent within Erik. Part of him reminded of God's angels, but another part, of a fallen angel, or even a demon.

When January 2nd came, Mlle de Chagny had hardly slept at all. But she wasn't tired, caught by some sort of nervous adrenaline, waiting for Meg's promised visit. She still hesitated to tell the ballerina (and indirectly, Erik) about Soliman's proposal and his threats. She realized, at that moment, that he would throw himself into the lion's mouth… for her. And usually, men who did that were…

No, this couldn't be. It was by principle that Erik was doing this, Soliman being his worst enemy. It had to be…

But no. Erik had absolutely no principles. So…

_Was he in love with her? _

Stupid question. Of course he was. You had to be blind not to realize it.

But the arrival of Annette, announcing that Mademoiselle Giry wished to see her, interrupted the young lady's thoughts.

Trembling a bit because of her recent realization, Mlle de Chagny smiled to Meg as she entered in her living-room.

"Good morning, Meg," Céleste started, since the girls had both agreed in calling each other by their first name. "Any news from the Opera Populaire?"

"Nothing much. We were closed yesterday since it was January 1st, but we supposed that Soliman might have been invited for New Year's Eve by your brothers."

Céleste lifted down her eyes, seeing that she was somehow trapped either way. Yes, Erik had to know what was going now, since he became more and more evident that in Soliman's plan for Erik and the Daroga, she would have to play an important role. It couldn't be a coincidence. It couldn't be. And Meg needed no words from Céleste to understand that something was wrong.

"Oh, Meg, please, tell him not to do anything stupid, I beg you," Mlle de Chagny finally said, her voice slightly trembling. "Because what happened yesterday… because… because…"

Meg, quietly, grabbed Céleste's hands gently.

"Just tell me what happened. We'll see after if it's better for him to know about everything or not."

Taking a deep breath, Céleste said everything to Meg, Soliman's proposal, his threats, and also her suspicions about him having made the connection between her family and Erik, which was becoming more and more evident. The young ballerina listened to her fixedly, until she had finished her story. Céleste felt almost relieved just by telling it, like part of her burden had fell on Meg's shoulders.

"Well… I think it is better if he's aware of everything…" started Meg prudently. "But I will tell him that you requested him not to act impulsively."

Céleste was only a little bit reassured by Meg's assurance. Of course, she would do everything as she promised, but she knew Erik well enough to tell that with his stubbornness, he would probably act recklessly once again. He had acted like this before, anyway. He had even been capable of crashing a chandelier, burning part of HIS Opera house. Yes, he would be able of taking risks and probably facilitate Soliman's plan.

_Because he loved her. _

That was the terrible truth.

But, as Céleste thought of it, her gaze travelling through her living-room, while Meg was respectfully remaining silent, the awareness that Erik was in love with her didn't bother her in the sense that she, in return, didn't have any feelings for him. It was just that… it wasn't possible. At all. And she didn't want to think about it, because it hurt.

_If it hurts to think about it… maybe it's because I do love him. _

Céleste had never fallen in love before. Yes, she was ready to admit that she was attracted to Erik, but in love with him… It seemed like a whole other thing, and it sort of scared her.

But soon, quick steps could be heard at the outside of the living-room. The two girls could hear: "Madame, please, don't run, especially in your state…"

The door flung open. An exhausted Annette came in, starting quickly: "Mademoiselle, I'm sorry, I said you didn't want to be bothered when Mademoiselle Giry is here and…"

But soon, the maid was interrupted by Christine, entering the room as quickly as her pregnancy could permit her, to Céleste and Meg's incredulous eyes.

* * *

><p>"Christine?" They both said in a chorus.<p>

"Meg, I'm so glad to see you!" Christine started. "Céleste, I'm sorry for intruding myself like this, but you just had to know…"

The vicomtesse's voice was shaking, and Céleste, her surprise calmed down, could see all the shock, fear and sadness which marked her porcelain doll face. And, for the first time, she didn't feel any hatred nor disdain towards her. Even, she smiled in a comforting way to her sister-in-law, well Meg was gently taking her best friend's hand and guiding her towards a chair so she could sit and be more comfortable.

"Do you feel well enough to tell us what is going on?" asked Meg gently.

Christine nodded, taking a deep breath and lifting her head, her eyes now calm. But she remained pale.

"First of all, Céleste, I want you to know that I have heard everything Soliman has told you, since you were both in a room which is just beside our bedroom." (By _our_, of course, Christine was including Raoul and herself.) "I know he's aware of _his _presence, and that he's up to no good, and that he knows that you have been in relation with him. How, I don't want to know, Céleste. But just tell me: is _he _alright?"

Christine's eyes were almost pleading for an answer. Céleste felt suddenly a cold shower falling on her head. She wanted news of her possible ex-lover? Yes, she would get them. But she wanted to get a few things clear.

"He's fine," she answered abruptly. "Why do you want to know?"

Christine glanced quickly towards Meg's eyes, and in only one look, she understood many things.

"It's not at all because I have any sort of… feelings for him," started Christine slowly. "It's just… he has been a presence for me when I was desperate because of my father's death. He has taught me to sing… And I will never forget it. I felt guilty of leaving him behind, on the fire's night, but I knew I did the best choice. I love Raoul, Céleste, truly. And I want you to believe that."

Though she was fighting very hard against it, Céleste could see that Christine was sincere. Well, it looked like she had been wrong about her… Oh well. Without smiling, but looking in Christine's eyes without a shadow of dislike, she said calmly: "I believe you, Christine."

The Swedish girl smiled. And on her face, a great joy appeared. She knew that that day, Céleste had somehow forgiven her for all the offenses she had made to her unwillingly, and it gave her courage to continue what she had to announce her. And it wasn't pretty at all.

"Monsieur Soliman has come for a visit a few hours ago… and then, I was absent for a while and, when I came back, I overheard the conversation he had with Philippe and Raoul… They didn't know I was there, because, if it was the case, they would have never dared to talk of it in front of me. They've… they're planning to capture _him_ for good. Soliman is acting as the good soul who says he has also been indirectly a victim of him, he talked about a fiancée he used to have or something – and he said he knows his techniques very well, and, and… I know most of this isn't true, especially when he said that he loved you and that he wanted you to be safe if _he_ ever wanted to revenge, and… and…"

Christine burst into tears, exhausted by her effort, while Meg quickly ran to her and hugged her tightly, murmuring "Shhh…" to calm her down. Meanwhile, Céleste remained in her place, numb, still having trouble realizing what she had just heard.

Well, at least Philippe and Raoul still didn't know anything about Erik and herself.

But now, they didn't have just Soliman to worry about. They also had two other people on their list. Who was next? Firmin? André? Why not La Parilla?

"I think you know what to do, Meg," Céleste finally said, unexpressive.

Meg nodded her head.

"How did you get, here, anyway?" Céleste asked Christine, when she seemed more composed.

"I… waited for Soliman to leave and I stayed in my room. When Raoul came to see me, I told him I just had a headache and that I wanted to go outside to have a bit of fresh air. I said I was going to the Champs-Élysées, alone. But instead, I told the coachman to take me to you home…"

Céleste nodded her head, while Meg, with a teasing smile, said: "I'm proud of you."

"I can take care of myself, Marguerite Giry…" replied Christine, with a cheeky look. "To a certain point."

The three girls laughed nervously, which made the tension drop a bit. But not completely.

About an hour later, Meg left, charged of the very difficult task of informing Erik of everything. When Christine started to worry about the time, Céleste proposed gently to her that she could stay for the night.

"I think you had a lot of emotions," she added as an argument, "and we don't want Philippe and especially Raoul to notice it."

"I thought of this also," said Christine, "but I was afraid of asking you."

Céleste smiled, but her grin was a sad one, as she was remembering all the resentment she had felt towards Christine.

Quickly, she wrote a note to explain without arousing suspicion Christine's absence to her brothers.

_Philippe, Raoul, _

_Christine will be staying at my home for the night. She feels too tired to come back at your place, so I have offered her to stay here. _

_Yours, _

_Céleste _

Everything should be fine, for tonight. But, though all the doors and windows were well shut, that the servants were there, Céleste nor Christine felt safe.

Thankfully, they received no unexpected visits from anyone. When bedtime came, Mlle de Chagny had the vicomtesse install herself in a spare bedroom, and lent a nightgown to her.

But, all alone in her bed, Céleste couldn't fall asleep and felt quite insecure. When she heard a gentle knock on her door, she jumped suddenly, imagining a thousand terrible scenarios and whispered, in a voice she would have wanted to be firmer:

"Who's there?"

"It's me," Christine's sweet voice answered. "Can… can I come in? I don't feel safe in my room."

"Come in." When the young Swedish girl opened the door, Céleste looked at her with a weak smile. "I don't feel safe either."

Mlle de Chagny settled on the right side of her bed, near the window, leaving the left side to Christine, knowing that she would feel safer that way. Céleste wasn't too reassured by the fact that she was just beside the window, irrationally but truly afraid that Soliman would simply jump in the room by breaking the window.

It was about two hours later, when the two girls were just about to fall asleep that suddenly, they both heard someone knocking at the window.

"What's that?" whispered Christine, her voice trembling and even more high-pitched than usual.

"I… I don't know…" Céleste was going to comfort Christine, though she was quite terrified herself, when suddenly, they both saw a dark silhouette standing on the window's outside sill. Immediately, they cuddled up each other, and Céleste squeezed Christine's hand, begging her: "Please… don't scream."

The silhouette starting knocking harder and harder on the window with something, until what was holding it closed broke and opened it, letting a gust of cold winter air coming into the chamber. Céleste and Christine smothered a cry, covering their eyes, by a childish reflex, with their sheets. But soon, Mlle de Chagny lifted up her eyes, screwing them up to see better in the darkness.

And when she saw who it was, her mouth opened, and she was unable to say anything.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the cliffie… Actually no, I'm not sorry at all. *Evil grin***

**Answers to reviews:**

**TheCrimsonPen:** Yes, I think everyone hates Soliman, now. XD NOW, PEOPLE, YOU HAVE NO REASON TO HATE RAOUL MORE THAN SOLIMAN. OKAY? *Okay, okay, I'm out of here*

Erik's reaction? He'll be furious, guaranteed. XD

**Erik's guest:** I think everybody, though it wasn't really possible, were crossing their fingers for a kiss… Everyone loves big damn kisses. XD But thanks again for following so faithfully. ;)

**YourPhan:** I think everyone is now hooked to the updates to see when Céleste and Erik will FINALLY face it. XD And don't worry, writing is my passion and will last forever. Promised on Peter Pan and Aslan's heads. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean:** Thanks! And yes, who doesn't love Meg? Really?

**PhantomFan01:** Meg rocks! And yes, Lindsey Stirling is amazing, I'm a big fan of her, and I just loved her Phantom of the Opera medley. The first time I listened to it, and when the electric guitars started, my reaction was pretty much: "H*LL YEAAAAH!" The only low (and it's really nothing, I guess she just didn't have enough room for it), it's that she didn't play The Point of no Return. This POTO song played on the violin is. Simply. Breathtaking. The violin really possesses all the passion to make an amazing rendition of it.

And yes, good old cliffhangers are a sadistic trick invented by authors to make sure their readers keep on reading. MWAHAHAHA! XD

**Aria:** Your reviews sure took me completely on surprise! Well thank you very much for taking time to review, it was really appreciated!

There is a lot of _Frozen_ inspiration spread here and there because at the beginning, I wanted to do a Once Upon a Time/POTO/Frozen crossover. But then, the idea of having Erik falling in love with Raoul's sister came, and it was brilliant, and I decided to base myself on Elsa to create Céleste. But my crossover is still dinging in my mind, and I even started to prepare it! It will come out soon on Fanfiction! And yes, Frozen is one of my favorite Disney movies, along with _Tangled_ and _Beauty and the Beast_ (surprise surprise. XD)

I wanted Céleste to be Christine's total opposite, because, let's face it, Christine Daaé is the damsel in distress by excellence. Céleste, though she is totally freaked out, won't be afraid of standing in front of the Phantom. And the main reason why I'm team Raoul unlike almost everybody on the planet it's because at the basis, I don't like Christine (without hating her). I mean, Erik disserves better.

Prussia is Germany, before 1871. ;) Only, it didn't have Bavaria back then, since Bavaria belonged to the Austrian empire. But I think you guessed that later. ;)

Glad to see you liked the fluffy Raoul/Christine moment! Seriously, there aren't enough in the movie or musical.

A description of her dress? Well, I would see her at the beginning being dressed really "tight". See it a bit like Elsa during the coronation. (Boy was her dress ugly then!) And if she remembers how to play the violin after all these years, well… Céleste is a music genius. ;) And Erik did even better: he learned tons of instruments by himself. ;)

AND YES, THE PERSIAN ROCKS!

Don't worry; I have nothing against Germans… ;)

The poison the Phantom used on La Parilla? Oh, it's simple, you can find it on eBay (ok, ok, I'll stop my bad jokes). Erik's concoctions. ;) Some can make you croak, some will attack your skin… XD

At first, I thought Erik's revenge plan was a bit too insanely complicated, but glad to see that you liked it! And Gone with the Wind is my #1 reference about "How marriages worked back then". So I know that when you dishonored a girl, you had to marry her. ;)

And I'm so glad to hear that you love Céleste, like everyone does! Creating an OC for POTO and making her interesting enough is always risky…

I think Erik has started to compose again about… well, ten months after Christine left. Gosh, poor Erik. *gives him a hug*

I know what you mean about Céleste's dress for the masquerade… I was writing about it and I wanted it too… XD

I never thought of Céleste, Erik and Soliman as being similar to Katniss, Peeta and Snow! But it's true that in a certain way, they're alike. But I'll admit it, I like _Hunger Games_, though I'm not really a fan of it. (But I am a Jennifer Lawrence fan. *-*)

By the way… raise your hand if you wanna "Erik tortures Soliman" scene! XD

And I think not only Céleste is growing on Erik, but Erik is also growing on her! *Overdose of fluff squeal*

Thanks for encouraging me in writing, it's more than appreciated! And I'm really touched that I'm actually inspiring you…

OH. MY. GOSH. *Cries*


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: I think you all guessed who entered Céleste's bedroom like that, hmm? And yay for Raoul the cat-burglar. XD **

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><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

It was only a few minutes later that finally, FINALLY, Céleste dared to say something. The few minutes in question were spent in a very awkward moment where Erik (for the silhouette is question was indeed him) was looking at Céleste, then at Christine, seemingly shocked, where Céleste was looking at Erik and Christine, afraid of the Phantom's reaction, and where Christine was looking at Erik and Céleste, retaining a smile while seeing their speechless looks when they looked at each other, and at the same time, trembling, terrified of Erik's presence and how he would react because of her being there.

"Erik?" Céleste mumbled, not realizing that for the first time, she had called him by his first name, and in a way that you could suspect familiarity between them. "You… I… She…" Remembering what she had told Meg, to beg Erik not to do anything stupid, she felt anger rising within her.

"Didn't Meg tell you? Are you looking for trouble or what?"

"I'm not leaving you here," started Erik, his voice being more a growl than the sound of someone speaking.

"Well, if I run away with you, if that is what you plan, Soliman and my brothers will have every reason to track you down. Can't you just think in a logical way for five minutes of your life?"

"I could just leave you alone with your problems if you prefer," answered Erik, grimly. But he was only half-present. From time to time, he was looking quickly towards Christine, his face getting paler and paler by the second. Céleste, of course, observed it, and jealousy rose into her. Yes, she was ready to admit it, seeing Erik and Christine in the same room did annoy her, and to the highest degree!

"Is everything alright, Erik?" Céleste asked, exasperated.

"Yes," he finally answered, recovering his usual arrogant casualness. "Well, to tell you the truth, I prefer facing Soliman and your brothers than to leave you here. So you decide. Or I leave and you never hear of me again, or you follow me."

"Just in case you didn't notice, I can't just leave like this while I have a visitor. But I think you know that, am I wrong?"

In a menacing way, Erik came up to the bed where were sitting the two girls, while Christine, holding herself from screaming, almost hid herself behind Céleste, who was quite scared herself but stood straight, even when the Phantom's face was about at thirty centimeters from hers. Quickly, Christine glanced at Céleste than at Erik, looking discreetly at them confronting each other, and felt somehow reassured of her sister-in-law's brave attitude. But soon, the Phantom's gaze met hers, and as he saw how frightened Christine was, he sighed and pushed back of a few steps, hiding a sort of painful expression.

"Well," Céleste finally said, "it looks like I have no choice, anyway. But to at least cover my kidnapping for a while, until we think of something, do you permit me to at least give a few recommendations to Christine?"

Erik nodded in the dark, retaining himself from doing any movement showing his nervous exasperation. Slowly, Céleste got up, took Christine by the hand and encouraged her to follow her outside the room. As the vicomtesse got up, her nightgown showed quite well her pregnancy, especially when she placed her hand on her abdomen, as if to protect her child. As Erik remarked it, he turned away his head towards the window, not to see more of it. As they got out, Céleste let the door slightly open, just enough so the Phantom could see them (and not hear them) and observe that they wouldn't run away.

"Now listen to me, Christine," whispered Céleste. "This is very important and I'm counting on you. Tomorrow, you will get up late, and you will tell the servants and the people at home when you come back that I got up early, without waiting for you and that I didn't want to disturb. I'm spending two weeks at the Sacré-Coeur convent, where I taught for a year, on the pretext that I'm thinking about my wedding and everything. For the window, you'll say that I tried to open it to get a bit of fresh air and that I accidently broke it. Do you understand?"

Christine nodded, her eyes staring at Céleste's intently, when suddenly, the two girls heard the sound of something made of glass or porcelain cracking.

Finally, the two girls entered the room, to see Erik nonchalantly sitting on the window's bottom edge, with what fragments of what used to be two vases spread all around him. Céleste retained herself from laughing and asking Erik: "Isn't that what girls usually do when they're mad?" But since now, Erik seemed calmer, she didn't want him to throw a tantrum, and especially in front of a pregnant Christine. Quickly, without further ado though it was quite tempting, she took a broom to push away the porcelain fragments under her bed, though she really felt like just giving the broom to Erik so he could clean up his own mess himself, and after, she seized a large bag she had, to take a few things she would need.

"Do you think you're going on some vacation or what?" asked Erik, grimly.

"Well, so it won't look like a kidnapping for a while, and to show that I'm truly gone at the convent for two weeks, I'll have to bring at least a few things," answered Céleste in the same manner. "But even a bag looks strange. I should take a trunk, but for you, I don't think it will be very practical, since I suppose you came here by foot," she added, looking dourly at Erik.

"I have a horse," he answered, still harshly.

"Did you _borrow _it?" she asked, insisting very sarcastically on the "borrow".

"No. The horse is mine."

For a moment, Céleste stopped preparing her bag. "How can you keep a horse in the underground and bring him outside after?"

"How can you keep asking questions all the time?"

Céleste lifted up her eyes towards the ceiling and sighed, exasperated, and continued to prepare herself. After she gathered three very simple dresses, who would be appropriate for a convent, she suddenly dropped her bag, paced through her room, thinking absorbedly, and then whispered at Christine: "Say I didn't bring much because I'm buying new clothes!"

Christine nodded, while Erik lifted up a brow, seemingly impressed of Céleste's ingenuity.

A few minutes after, Céleste was finally ready. Her head high, she advanced towards the window and said, her voice clear: "I'm ready."

"You forgot something," Erik said in a strangely gentle way.

"Forgot what?"

"Your violin."

Quickly, Céleste turned her head towards the corner where she kept her instrument, to turn back towards Erik and smile at him, just before immediately seizing her violin. A shadow of a smile appeared on the Phantom's lips, in such a way that Christine, who had taken place back into the bed, could see all the little gazes the man who had been her Angel of Music once was giving at Céleste, though they were very furtive. Warmth slowly developed in her heart. She knew that somehow, there was hope for her Angel.

But, as Céleste came back, the two girls realized quickly that now, it seemed like the Phantom, as he was looking at Christine, was somehow hesitating. And they both knew why: he was thinking of taking Christine at the same time. The occasion was perfect, yes. Many times, since she had left him on the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_, Erik had dreamed of that moment where he could get Christine back from the Vicomte. It seemed like it had been given to him on this very night. But somehow, Erik didn't want Christine to be with him anymore, now. And already, he could feel Céleste's cold glare on him, like if she was reading in him like a book.

"Are you also forgetting something?"

That was more than enough for Erik to handle, for he had made an amazing effort to remain calm for the last several minutes. As fast as lightening, he grabbed Céleste's throat tightly, not hard enough to strangle her but just as much as necessary to make her let her bag and her violin case fall on the ground, cough a bit because of the sudden lack of air, and to try desperately to get free from Erik's grip by putting her hands on his arm and struggling to bring it down, without success. Erik's arm seemed to be made of iron. Christine, meanwhile, had grabbed the bed's sheets, like if she was attempting to protect herself with them, her face as pale as the time where Raoul had been at two fingers of being killed, and resisting against faint.

"You seem to like to put yourself into trouble, hey?" growled Erik. Without further ado, he grasped a folded handkerchief with his free hand into his pocket and almost crushed it on Céleste's mouth. Immediately, the young lady smelled a persisting perfume which made her heart lift, and soon, everything became dark around her while she fell towards, only to be caught just in time by Erik.

He looked for a moment down the window, and observed the rope he had used to get up. Though Céleste was light, it seemed solid enough to support both their weights, and so was the stone ornament where he had tied the rope in place. He looked in the garden on which Céleste's room was giving, and more especially towards the alleys and the other houses which were surrounding it. No one was there. And if some burglar tried to meddle with him… well, he had no idea that it was with the Phantom of the Opera himself that he was going to interfere with.

When he turned his head back towards the room, he saw that Christine, probably too worn out of the events which had just occurred, had fainted. For a moment, he observed her, wondering why he had even hesitated to bring her with him or not. Now, it seemed all so far away… He remembered how, during this whole scene, she had seemed so absent, while Céleste, though she was sometimes trembling of fear, had been brave enough to stand up to him…

As he glimpsed throughout the room, he saw, left on a chair, the Snow Queen dress he had given to Céleste for the masquerade, a few days ago. Putting down Mlle de Chagny's inert body delicately, Erik seized the dress and, folding it quickly, he inserted it in her bag. Yes, it was totally useless and a bit stupid of him to load her down with that… but he just couldn't leave it there.

But suddenly, he realized that with a fainted Céleste, it would be quite difficult to get down to the ground. At first gently, but more and more quickly, he shook Céleste's hands and arms, taping her cheeks a little bit, until finally, she came back, and looked around her, puzzled and her mind still in the fog.

"We're going," Erik said simply.

Céleste looked quickly towards the bed, and saw Christine sleeping or in a faint state, and, without further ado, murmuring mentally a quick prayer so her sister-in-law wouldn't forget her recommendations, she seized her bag, which she placed across her shoulder, and grabbed a pair of ankle boots that she put on, while Erik had tied a rope around her violin case and had also placed it around his shoulder, the case resting on his back.

Seeing that Céleste was ready, Erik headed towards the window, followed by the young lady, who observed him as he seized the rope he had used to climb, and, well clung to it, in a crouched position, his feet finding their balance on the window's bottom edge, he made sign for Céleste to come with a little movement of the head.

"Sit on the edge, face to your room." he ordered her.

Céleste complied with it, and slowly, Erik grabbed her left arm, lifting it in order to get her hand, which he guided towards the rope so it could seize it. Keeping his left hand on hers, he did the same with the right one. He afterwards ordered Céleste to get up on the edge, which she did… but that implied her to lean herself on Erik. As the two of them gasped simultaneously, feeling the warmth of each other, they seemed to hesitate for a while, when the Phantom finally broke the silence by whispering:

"Now just hold the rope less tightly, but don't let it go completely… Just so we can slip down."

Slowly, with Erik sort of jumping on the wall from time to time to control their slip, they finally got down, and, when Céleste let go of the rope, she shivered. After all, she was still in her nightgown, since she had completely forgotten to take a shawl or something. _God, I should have thought of that… I had enough presence of spirit to take my ankle boots, but I wasn't smart enough to take a shawl… Well, at least when I was coming down the wall, Erik was there to warm me up… Wait… What? _

"Are you cold?"

Erik had asked her that somehow indifferently, by judging by the tone of his voice. But he couldn't hide a twinkle of concern in his eyes, and Céleste retained herself from smiling. She simply shrugged.

"I can handle it," she answered.

Like if he hadn't heard her last sentence, Erik took off his cape (with a flourish, and Céleste's stomach started doing funny things unexpectedly as a result, and it just HAD to stop) and handed it to her. "Take it," he simply said.

"I told you I was alright," Céleste replied, with a bit of annoyance in her voice. "And… well, you'll be cold yourself," she added, daring to say her true thoughts.

Erik shrugged, and laughed bitterly.

"I've already been even less dressed on colder nights than tonight. But you… You know nothing of misery."

Without saying a word, her eyes low, Céleste seized the cape without further ado, and wrapped herself in it, feeling quite small in its blackness and size. And slowly, she lifted up her eyes towards Erik's, and looking intently into his, she said, her voice soft, as soft as snowflakes falling slowly on the ground in some sort of sound similar to chimes:

"There are many kinds of misery, you know. And it's our duty to help each other. So thank you."

By thank you, Céleste meant not only the warm cape. She meant everything. Because she knew that, mainly because of Erik, she wasn't quite the same young woman who had left the convent, was kept from giving herself to music, and had been furious and jealous of Raoul and Christine's happiness. And, to her great surprise, but also pleasure, it seemed like Erik understood her thank you. For the first time since she had met him, he smiled, of a true smile, and it was given to her. And, though he said nothing, Céleste knew that Erik was thanking her.

But soon, they realized it was time for them to go. Three o'clock had wrung at the nearby tower clock, and, before the early risers would wake up and see them, they decided to leave as quickly as they could.

Erik, after doing a defined move on the climbing rope in order for it to almost magically come down and enrolling it to install it on his shoulder, guided Céleste out of the garden by climbing the gate, and towards many alleys, until they arrived to a blind alley Céleste was almost surprised to see, for it was quite hard to find in the darkness. Erik whistled in a very particular manner, and a black horse, all saddled up, came out of the blind alley. After he helped Céleste to climb on the animal, he got up there himself, and they took off.

About a quarter of an hour later, they had arrived to the Opera Populaire, at the left side of it, to be more precise. Immediately, Erik got off the horse and headed towards the Opera Populaire's wall, and ran his hand over it, as if he was looking for something in the darkness. Suddenly, an entrance appeared, revealing a secret passageway. He headed back towards the horse and Céleste, who was still on it, and took the reins, to guide the animal towards the passageway.

Ten minutes passed, and they seemed like ten hours to Céleste, since the tunnel they were travelling through was extending so much she was superstitiously starting to wonder if it wasn't some passageway to hell. Finally, they arrived to a lit place, where Céleste could see a horse's box. When the animal was stopped by Erik, Mlle de Chagny got down by herself.

"Don't go wandering around," warned her Erik. "There are traps here and there, and there are only four people who know how they work."

By four, he meant of course himself, the Daroga, Mme Giry, and also, unfortunately, Soliman. After all, many years ago, Erik did design these kinds of traps for their entertainment and the "education" the Khanum wanted to give him…

As soon as he had unsaddled the horse and installed it in his box, Erik headed back towards Céleste, and took a torch which was fixed just before on the wall, and handed out his hand to the young lady. For a second, Céleste hesitated... Then, in an almost daredevil way, she took Erik's hand, and the delicate but firm way she did it made the Phantom interiorly jump, then comforted him more than he was ever comforted in his whole life.

A quarter of an hour later, they were both in the gondola, and were about to arrive at the lair's gate when Erik suddenly whispered to Céleste:

"Don't make too much noise when we arrive. Nadir is there."

"Really?" Céleste replied, glad to see the Daroga again, for she had not seen him since the night of _Sleeping Beauty. _

"Yes. And I didn't inform him at all of my plans about you, since he would have probably gone mad because of it, well, for as much as Nadir can go mad. But still, I don't want to see his dismal face for the next several weeks, because he's very good at those, and I can threaten him as much as I want that if he continues, I'll let him find another hiding place, he'll know I'm just bluffing."

Céleste retained herself from smiling. But Erik saw it…

"What's so funny?"

With a bit of a cheeky smile, she shrugged. With an annoyed look, Erik lifted up his eyes towards the ceiling in such a drama-queen way that his time, Céleste burst out laughing, to immediately calm herself down to let the sleeping dog lie… in this case, the dog's name was Nadir. And, as soon as she stopped, she turned towards Erik, whose mouth was still smiling and whose breast was still shaking… Obviously, he had laughed himself, while she was not looking, and had immediately stopped when she had turn towards him.

Maybe one day, they would finally laugh heartily together, without any embarrassment or odd modesty…

The gate opened, and the gondola came alongside. As Céleste got off the boat, she heard Erik whispering to her: "If you feel tired… you can sleep in the swan bed."

She nodded, and at the simple mention of sleeping, she suddenly felt quite tired. But she replied:

"But where will you sleep?"

"I don't sleep much anyway," he replied, shrugging. Suddenly, an impertinent grin appeared on his lips. "Unless… you let me sleep with you in the bed."

Céleste's eyes widened of shock, which provoked the Phantom's mocking smile she hated (and though she would never admit it, liked) so much. But just before retiring herself, she realized she still had the Phantom's cape on.

"Here," she said, handing it back to Erik. "And thank you."

"You're welcome," he answered, and with another of his true smiles.

Without further ado, Céleste headed towards the bed, tucked herself in, and realized that now, because of the long time she had spent wearing the cape, she now smelt a fragrance of eau de Cologne on her, and smiled, for she knew that because of that little element, she would dream of Erik.

About half an hour later, the Phantom, who had been sitting for that time at his desk, got up and slowly, approached the swan bed, carefully looking if Céleste's eyes weren't opening. They were indeed closed, and her regular breathing reassured him even more. As he came next to it, he bended down, until he arrived close enough to feel the young lady's breath, and quickly, he kissed her on the forehead, and left quickly, afraid that she would wake up and see him. He headed back towards his desk, and in a swift gesture, he wrapped himself into his cloak, which he remarked that it was now imprinted of a floral fragrance, which he immediately identified as Céleste's.

He had gone away so fast from the swan bed, that he didn't remarked that, just after he had kissed Céleste's forehead, the young woman had opened her eyes, and closed them again, a smile appearing on her lips.

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><p><strong>AN: How's the fluff? XD **

**Answers to reviews:**

**PhantomFan01:** You'll see. Hihihi. XD

**Erik's guest:** Well, the reason why he doesn't have a glass cutter is for practical reasons later. ;) You'll see in this chapter.

**Lydia the tygeropean:** ;)

**PhantomLilac:** You'll see! Thanks. :D

**lorxy:** Cliffhangers are always fun. XD And thanks! ;)

**Aria:** You're welcome! And there are never stupid questions. Just stupid answers. ;) Well, just to give a clue… I don't think it might be Raoul. I mean, Raoul would just knock on the door and probably that the idea climbing up to Céleste's bedroom window wouldn't even come to him. XD

And good luck with your phanfic! :D


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: I think my fluff made a bunch of magic purple bunnies have a sudden urge to let out… um, by somewhere we will not name an overdose of rainbows… but anyway. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

The next morning, when Christine woke up, she saw Annette, puzzled, waking her gently and looking at the window which its fastener was broken. Immediately, the vicomtesse de Chagny remembered everything Céleste had told her. She knew that she had always been a terrible liar, but this time, she wouldn't let her Angel down. She had failed him once, it wouldn't happen again. Especially that now, she had a new intention to pray for: that her Angel and Céleste would find happiness together, for she had seen, from time to time, by the way they were quickly gazing at each other, that there was something between them.

Quickly, in a very casual way, she started:

"Oh, I'm sorry for the window. I wanted to open it yesterday evening, to get a bit of fresh air, but I broke it… Céleste told me it didn't matter. I'm in her room since I felt kind of lonely in mine," she laughed. "But your mistress has warned me that she is going to the convent for two to three weeks, and she got up and left early so she wouldn't disturb you to pack her things. Anyway, she doesn't need much and she's buying new apparel."

As Christine talked, Annette immediately seemed to relax. Inside her, the vicomtesse knew it was sort of useless to inform a servant of her mistress' business, for a servant didn't need to know those things. And Céleste was taught well enough to know that. But she understood that, if her sister-in-law had asked her to do such a thing, it was so the servants would have exactly the same information as her brothers would receive.

Christine accepted the breakfast she was given, and, as soon as she was dressed, she set off back home, to be received, as almost immediately as she entered the house, by Raoul.

"Christine? Are you fine?" he asked, hugging her with a concerned look.

"Yes, of course," Christine said with a lovely smile, hiding very well the pinching she felt inside, as she thought that she was going to be forced to lie to Raoul. But there was no turning back. And once again, she felt that she was now an adult, who had to operate by herself, and that she had to proceed. Even if it was hard, and even if it seemed like she was experiencing once again the situation she had to face during _Dom Juan Triumphant_.

"Céleste has left early this morning," started Christine. "She is going to the convent where she taught to think about accepting or not Monsieur Soliman's demand. And she wishes no visitors. She really wants to be alone."

"Really? Well, I hope she'll get a bit of rest there also, since she seemed really tired the last few days and…"

Though it didn't seem like it, Christine wasn't listening anymore. Actually, she was wondering why she wasn't just bursting into tears. When Raoul was finally done talking, she muttered: "I think I'll retire to my bedroom to get changed, if you don't mind. Don't send Lise, I'll manage well on my own."

Still smiling, Christine headed towards her bedroom, and locked the door in order to be left alone. Quickly, she changed, and as soon as she was ready, she crushed on her chair, crying, but trying to hide the sound of her sobs so no one would hear her, muttering a prayer to her father in heaven, asking him to send her strength for what was coming. She felt so small in front of what was happening to her, and it wasn't the first time. But with time, she knew that in this whole story, it would be Céleste who would have to play the bigger part. Christine hoped dearly, now, that Céleste and her Angel would find happiness together, but in regards of the strict social bounds which tied her sister-in-law, would that be possible? If Céleste decided to do such a thing, it would mean abandoning everything, even her own name and her origins.

When the bell rang for dinner, a red-eyed Christine appeared at the dinning-room. Philippe, and more especially Raoul, felt worried about it, and tried everything to cheer her up, without success. Very quickly, the elder attributed this sudden sadness to the changeable mood of pregnant women. So did Raoul…. But he remarked that it was the first time it actually happened, for Christine had gone through her seven months of pregnancy easily, for what was of the mental state, though from time to time, she had fevers or headaches.

He remarked how much she seemed suddenly afraid, her head turning quickly when she heard sudden noises, just like the first days after _Il Muto _and later, _Dom Juan Triumphant_. Suddenly, suspicion entered him…

Had Christine heard about or saw the madman and, afraid of worrying him or somehow threaten, did she avoid to talk to him about it?

He was quite confident in Christine's love for himself, but he was always conscious that even with that, his wife still had a great affection for the man who had once pretended to be his Angel of Music. Part of him could do nothing but understand her. Anyway, no one disserved to be hated by everyone. But another part, which was unfortunately speaking a lot louder within him, was willing to do anything to eliminate the harmful dominion of the Phantom of the Opera.

By his will to do this, and by his teaming-up with Soliman, who he believed to be truly well-intentioned, Raoul had only one purpose: not for the pleasure of being cruel to a man already too much abused by life and its unjust brutality, but to protect Christine unselfishly. If Philippe had joined them on the pretext he also wanted to help the young couple, Raoul felt it was more for the "sport", and, deep inside, he couldn't help feeling a bit of disgust because of it. This was no game. But Philippe was such an optimistic and a bon vivant, though absolutely without being childish, that Raoul knew it was useless to convince him that this was serious business.

But the next day, when Soliman came for a visit, Raoul's suspicions only became even bigger.

He could see how much she looked like a doe who knows a wolf is after it.

Could she have overheard their conversation about their future Phantom hunt?

Was she afraid that the madman, knowing that there were men after him, would take her as a hostage to keep them tranquil?

Raoul would have given anything just to reassure Christine about all this, but he couldn't. Not until he was sure that she did have suspicions about their plans. Especially with her pregnancy, she absolutely needed nothing to upset her.

It was very noble of Soliman to accept to help them to capture the Phantom for good. With his past, Raoul had realized that things could have been much worse for Christine and himself, and he absolutely had to prevent those unfortunate events to happen.

Soliman had told Philippe and him that many years ago, he had met whom he called the Angel of Death when he was at the service of his brother, in the Manzanderan Court. He had asked, as some sort of salary for the palace he had built in accordance with the Shah's orders, a wife; but not just anyone: Soliman's own fiancée, who had just before formed a friendly bond with him, for she refused to be simply stopped because of the Court architect's disfigurement.

Soliman had announced, loud and clear, that he refused to submit to such a thing. This had leaded to the Angel of Death kidnapping Soliman's fiancée, and raping her, so the wedding between Soliman and her would never take place. It was said, anyway, in the Coran, that a man could only have a virgin as a wife, and that wasn't the case with his love anymore. And the young woman, refusing to live with such a dishonor, had committed suicide.

This was the tale that Soliman had given to the Chagny brothers, in order to raise their sympathy and their confidence. It was, of course, not true at all. But it had sure worked.

But, on that day, as he observed Soliman looking at a seemingly terrified Christine, the suspicion which had grew in him drew towards his friend, and less to his wife…

Even in his bed, the following night, Raoul couldn't explain why Soliman had such a triumphant look on his face while he was observing Christine, petrified because of his presence.

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><p>When Céleste woke up, well rested and having recovered from her recent sleepless nights, she sketched a movement of panic, wondering how come she wasn't in her room… But quickly, the past night's events came back to her, and soon, as she heard voices not too far away, she remembered. Especially the time when she was just about to go to sleep and that, suddenly, she had felt lips on her forehead. She had waited, tensed, for the person who was there to go away, and when she opened her eyes, she had just enough time to see that it had been Erik. Well, she had an intuition that it was him… and slowly, she had fallen asleep, trying not to think about it, but a smile appeared on her lips, unwillingly. But it was stronger than her strength of will.<p>

As the fog which surrounded her still sleepy brain faded away, Céleste paid closer attention to the voices she could hear discussing. She could distinguish Erik's voice very well, and, listening even more closely, she finally recognized the Daroga's voice. It was calm and posed, as usual, but Céleste could sense certain exasperation in it. And she knew a bit too well why.

Unseen, Céleste got off the swan bed, and gazed around for her bag. It had been placed on a little table near, which surprised her, since she had simply thrown it on the ground before almost crushing on the bed. Probably Erik had placed it there…

When she opened it, she immediately saw that someone had been more than peering in it. _Oh dear. _And the first thing that caught her sight was the Snow Queen dress she had worn to the Masquerade Ball. _What on Earth is that doing there? I don't need that, and I even had trouble to bring the essential. Probably Erik put that in while he had me fainted. He seriously needs to be given a little bit more – or probably, a lot more practical sense, for Heaven's sake! _And as she looked furthermore, she saw that the dresses she had packed the previous night had mysteriously disappeared, replaced by other ones who were, Céleste was obliged to admit it, a lot prettier than the ones she had brought with her. Once again, that was totally Erik's signature. She remembered how he teased her on her "nun-like dresses", and for this time, it was true. The apparel she remembered to have brought was of a black color, and she would have looked like if she was going to a funeral, which wasn't the case. Oh well. The dresses Erik had left her were decent enough, without being Quaker-like, and somehow, she felt happy of the swap. And even deeper inside, she prayed never to see those nun-like dresses again!

She looked around for a place where she could get dressed without being eventually bothered accidently by Erik or the Daroga, and finally saw a folding screen not too far away, where she got changed. She could also see, just behind it, a dressing table where she found everything she needed to comb and prepare her hair. For once, she abandoned her eternal bun, and arranged herself in a way her hair was floating freely on her shoulders… It felt so much less tight.

Slowly, all ready, Céleste approached in the still discussing voices' direction, so she wouldn't surprise Erik and the Daroga. Finally, as she arrived near them, she exclaimed "Good morning!" cheerfully, though not too much so they wouldn't think she wasn't taking things seriously.

Erik was as unchanging as usual, like if the situation just swept on him without doing any harm, though, more and more, Céleste was realizing that it was just a way to protect himself. The Daroga, immediately, bowed slightly as soon as he saw her, and though he was controlling himself very easily too, Céleste could see that his cheeks were a bit redder than usual, certainly because of animation. As she turned towards Erik, who had also bowed, she remarked that he wasn't glancing at her too much, by some sort of discomfort. Probably that he was still thinking of that kiss on the forehead he had given her, when he thought she was asleep… Céleste retained herself from smiling and starting to tease Erik about it. Anyway, even if they were alone, probably that he wouldn't appreciate too much that she would talk about it… though it was really DEVASTAINGLY tempting.

"Mademoiselle," greeted the Daroga, "I hope you had a good night."

"Very good, thank you," Céleste answered, turning towards Erik with a malicious sparkle in her eyes. She really couldn't help it. For a quick moment, her eyes met Erik's, and in this one sight, he immediately discerned that _she was awoken when he did it_. A shade of pink, very dim, but still present, appeared on his pale cheek, and he desperately tried to look somewhere else, though it became a lot more evident than before.

Nothing of this escaped from Nadir Khan's eagle eye, but he made no further hypothesis about this little game. There were more important things to think about, by Allah!

"Mademoiselle," started the Daroga, "if you desire to go back home…"

"Nadir, I think we have talked enough about all this," interrupted Erik, his voice getting a bit louder and even more menacing.

"Maybe really retiring to the convent you had talked about to Mademoiselle Daaé…"

"Nadir, seriously, I'm just about to let you find another hiding place," continued Erik, in the same manner.

"Erik!" cried Céleste, shocked.

She realized, but too late, the mistake she had done. She saw the Daroga slowly turning towards her, lifting an incredulous eye brow, and of course surprised she had called Erik by his first name… How come they had come to such a state of familiarity? Obviously, there were things he didn't know about…

Immediately, Erik tried to save face.

"I do not remember, mademoiselle, to have permit you to use such familiarity towards me," he muttered very arrogantly.

"Well, _monsieur_," Céleste answered, insisting very sarcastically on the _monsieur_, retaining herself from calling him _Your Imperial Highness_, "I do wonder why YOU think you are well placed to remind me of such a thing, hmm?" With a very cheeky grin, Céleste scratched her forehead (not at the place where he had kissed her, of course, she, very childishly, didn't want to scratch herself there), as if she was thinking intently… But it was only another sign to demonstrate to Erik that _she knew everything_.

"I don't understand why you are reproaching this to me, mademoiselle," continued Erik, in the same manner, though the red on his right unmasked cheek was getting quite uncontrollable. But the Daroga had heard enough.

"Stop arguing! I don't know what happened, and I prefer not to know. But we won't arrive to anything if you keep on arguing like little children!" he shouted.

For a moment, Céleste and Erik stared at Nadir, disbelievingly. After all, the Daroga was one of those men who never seemed to get fuming for anything. But when they did… it was more than surprising. And Erik, who knew him for a long time, tried very hard to remind himself of a time where Nadir had become this irritated… but he couldn't.

As he saw that, finally, he had closed their big mouths for at least a while, the Persian took a deep breath, and, having recovered his usual dignity, he started, looking sternly at Erik from time to time:

"If you do not feel safe at home, I think it may be judicious if you go at this convent like you have stated in your alibi."

Erik, this time, did not answer. Instead, he had seized a chair and sat on it lazily, seemingly looking somewhere else. But Céleste was starting to know him well enough to say that he was in fact waiting worryingly for her answer. She retained herself from smiling.

"I feel actually safer here, Daroga. But thank you very much for your concern."

Immediately, Erik lifted up his head, a twinkle in his eyes. But, as he saw that Nadir and Céleste had seen him doing such a gesture, he immediately looked somewhere else. The Daroga, vanquished, turned away and headed towards his quarters, muttering for himself, heard of no one:

"You are impossible, Céleste de Chagny… Just as much as _him_!"

As Nadir was leaving, Céleste approached Erik slowly, trying to catch his sight at least for a while. Hearing her approaching, the Phantom raised his head, and their eyes met... and, as he saw Céleste gently smiling to him, he could do nothing but smile back to her.

* * *

><p>Christine Marie de Chagny, née Daaé, simply couldn't bare it anymore.<p>

This had to be the worst day of her life since the _Dom Juan Triumphant _disaster. And before that, the worst day of her life was when her dear Daddy Daaé had died. She couldn't endure Soliman's victorious gaze on her anymore. The thought that she had lied to Raoul was torturing her. She had claimed that she had a headache, to retire in her boudoir, just beside the living-room where Raoul, Philippe and Soliman were. She had to be aware of what they were planning. It would torture even more to stay ignorant. But, not too surprisingly, they didn't even tackle the subject. Philippe and Raoul were probably conscious that she was in the room just next to them…

She had almost fallen on an armchair, closing her eyes, holding her tears, until she finally fell asleep, but in a troubled one.

She was suddenly awoken by a very gentle hand shaking her smoothly. As she opened her eyes, turning towards whom she thought to be Raoul, she suddenly drew back, protecting her face as she was almost afraid to be hit. Soliman was standing in front of her, his conqueror smile so large it was more a grimace than a grin.

"What are you doing here? Where are Raoul and Philippe?" cried Christine, when she finally gained her senses back.

"Somewhere," shrugged Soliman. "I simply want to ask you one question, Madame. Can you assure me Mademoiselle de Chagny is in her convent, as your brother stated to me?"

Christine only trembled more. As quick as a viper, Soliman seized her hands, and squeezed them so hard she let go a little cry. For a moment, it hurt so much she thought he was going to clutch them until they were completely grinded.

"Don't oblige me to hurt your pretty face after I rip your hands off, Madame la Vicomtesse. Just answer my question."

For a moment, Christine remained silent. Though the pain was unbearable, it wasn't enough for her betraying her Angel. She wanted him to find happiness, and it wouldn't be by submitting to Soliman that it would happen. She lowered her eyes towards the floor, and simply answered:

"Yes. Céleste is at her convent."

When she opened her eyes, Christine saw that Soliman was gone, and crossed her fingers that he had believed her, though, to be honest, she wasn't at all convinced of it.

But, in the living-room, a wide-smiling Soliman was sitting there. It hadn't been very hard for him to guess that Christine had lied to him. She was such a bad liar.

The puzzle's pieces were just getting together quicker and quicker. And soon, he would be able to carry out his plan.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I did my annual Lord-of-the-Rings marathon recently (which implies watching all three extended version films in one day) and… I don't know, but Gollum's Song (the end credits song at the end of The Two Towers) really made me think of Erik… Well, not at all Webber-Erik (until a certain point), but really 110% Leroux-Erik… Am I the only one to think that? Because sometimes, let's face it, Leroux-Erik makes me think of Smeagol… I let you find how. ;)**

**Answers to reviews:**

**PhantomLilac: **FLUFF ATTACK! XD

**PhantomFan01: **You can never die of fluffiness… There's never enough fluff… *Sadistic grin* XD

**Aria: **Yup, it's official, Christine belongs to the past now! And if she doesn't stay cool about what she has to say to Raoul… I swear I'm taking a shovel and hitting her with it. XD But don't worry. She will. ;)

And yes, sassy Erik is slowly resurfacing… For your pleasure Phangirls. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Yes it was. It was basically:

"THAT AWKWARD MOMENT

Where you come to kidnap your crush and that you find her with your ex-crush who totally brought you down mentally in the same bed, both scared sh*tless."

It would be amazing on Tumblr, really. XD

**RedDeathLvr: **Thank you so much! I hope to hear more of you! ;)

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **I'm so glad to hear of you! I thought for a moment you had stopped following my story… Another proof that I'm paranoid.

Christine? She knows nothing about Soliman, but she has a certain instinct in front of him. She's more intuitive than she looks… sometimes. XD

I had so much fun imagining them praying at midnight mass… Philippe? He's not really the type of guy who will go praying, he'll just listen to the music as a distraction, Raoul is praying for Christine and the baby (of course), Christine is all sweet, Céleste is desperate… It shows their characters well. ;)

And yes, naughty Erik used his pickpocket skills here to grab Céleste's ball notebook… For a gallant purpose. XD

Schmidt's stick? That's nothing. Frau Gerturd in Lucky Luke used her LEFT LEG to detect ghosts. She said it was possessed by the spirit of a Valkyrie.

Actually, Céleste is satisfied that Erik has a very good reason to care more about her than Christine… Though she doesn't totally realize it. Her reaction is pretty much: "Haha, I win!" XD

I think Meg is very intuitive. If you look at her closely in the 2004 movie, it shows it very well. And it's the reason why Meg has become my favorite character, recently. ;)

"Angel of Death" comes from Kay. ;) And that name is total badass. XD

Glad to see you like the Chagny ladies! I'm passionate about History, especially French History. I love the Crusaders, I love the wars of Vendée, I love Louis XIV, Mme de Maintenon, the Fronde, and I do also appreciate English History, a lot. The Wars of Roses, the Tudors, Charles II who was simply awesome especially in his escape from Worcester… no wonder I'm a Whovian. XD I'm also very touchy in historical accuracy. Really.

I think Christine is doing all this more for Erik than for Céleste, not because she's in love with him, but she cares deeply for him and wants him to be happy. ;) And for what is of Christine staying out of this… Well, you'll see it in the next chapter.

Well, let's just say that when Céleste tells Raoul "K, little bro, don't do this!", he usually listens to her. Ok, yes, he would have gone to see Christine, but things would have complicated a bit, so… Voilà. XD

And I really don't imagine Raoul trying to come into Céleste's house like that… He'll probably just knock at the door… I just imagined him breaking into her house, Céleste waking up and looking at Raoul: "Raoul! You are so grounded young man!" XD

**YourPhan: **Erik can be soft… Sometimes. XD


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Christine didn't know for how long she had stayed in her bedroom, afraid of even moving. This situation could not continue, and the pressure was just getting more and more intense. She had the impression, for a moment, that the walls of her room were going to squeeze her until she didn't have any breath, and that they would only let her go when she would have yelled what she knew. Raoul at least had to know how Soliman had treated her, and maybe it would convince him to retain himself from attacking the Phantom. Anyway, she didn't have to tell her everything… But she was such a bad liar. By experience, she knew it a bit too well.

_Daddy Daaé, help me. Please, I beg you! _

It was only after ten minutes which seemed to Christine ten hours that finally, she heard a gentle knock on her door. Not even daring to answer in any way, she remained silent, retaining herself from shouting while the door was opening. And finally, when she saw Raoul's silhouette, she breathed like if she had been deprived of air for a long time.

"Christine? Christine, what is the matter?"

Raoul rushed to Christine, who remained silent, looking at the floor, hiding her face from him. He took gently her hands in his, but it was then that he saw the bruises, which stood up very well from their aristocratic white color.

"What happened, Christine? How did you get hurt like this?"

Christine's head became even lower, until Raoul, delicately but firmly, brought it up, forcing her to look into his eyes. And now, it was quite easy for him to see all the fear and the sadness which inhabited them.

"Christine… please. Tell me."

It was only then, with a very weak voice, almost a murmur, that she finally answered: "Soliman."

Raoul's eyes widened of shock. And for a moment, he wondered if that was the reason why she seemed so terrified of Soliman, since she had come back from Céleste's home.

"Did he… hurt you like this before?" Raoul's voice was as calm as he could, but the tremble which could be heard was a very evident sign of his anger.

With a very weak smile, which was of course trying to be reassuring, Christine nodded negatively.

"Why has he done this to you?"

Raoul heard Christine gasp, than nothing else, like if suddenly, she had lost not only her breath, but also her voice. She closed her eyes, like if she was thinking intently, and then reopened them.

"He… he wanted to know if Céleste really was at her convent."

"That's it?" cried Raoul, dazed.

"Yes." The vicomte looked into his wife's eyes, trying to see if, because she was scared, she was lying to him. But he saw very quickly that it wasn't the case. So…

"Christine… Do you know why Soliman would want to be advised if Céleste is at her convent?"

Like a child taken by surprise in some stupidity, Christine lowered her head, blushing nervously. And, as soon as she made this gesture, she immediately wanted to slap herself. She knew it. She was a bad liar.

_Father, father, why did you abandon me?_

_Or must I tell him? _

_Well, Raoul, prove me now that you love me. _

"Raoul, I know what you, Philippe and Soliman are planning to do."

"What?"

"Raoul, please, I'll tell you everything. Just promise me one thing."

Raoul sighed. He was starting not to like the sound of all this.

"What is it?"

"I want you to leave _him _alone."

As she saw Raoul hesitating, she started to tell him everything she knew, including what concerned Céleste. Christine would have liked to remain silent on this chapter, but her sister-in-law was too important of an element in this puzzle. And anyway, as she talked, she was slowly starting to scheme a plan to save the Phantom. For so long, she had prayed for his redemption. She had been judged unworthy of being its instrument by Heaven, and she was somehow thankful for it. She didn't feel strong enough for such a charge, and to sacrifice a life with Raoul for Erik was just too much to ask. But for Christine, it was impossible that God, in His mercy, had for ever shut His doors to Erik. But as the old French adage says: _"Aide-toi, le Ciel t'aidera"_ which means here "Help yourself, Heaven will help you", Christine was willing to do anything to help him find happiness, or else she would consider herself as his murderer. For so many years, he had been a fatherly figure to her, and though that wasn't really his purpose, Christine knew that without him, she would have never recovered from her father's death.

As she finished her story, the shadow which had invaded Raoul's figure frightened her. Well, he had a good reason for it: knowing that your sister is in your worst enemy's lair, that her fiancé brutalized her and your wife doesn't make anyone smile. Immediately, Christine added:

"What I want you to do, Raoul, is to go there with Philippe and Soliman, as planned. Negociate with _him_, please. Tell him to give you back Céleste and that _he_ has to leave the country, and in exchange, you won't kill him or bring him to the police. Please. I'll feel responsible for _his_ death if you don't do this. I don't feel well these days, Raoul… I… I don't want to lose the baby." As she said that sentence, Christine took her husband's hand delicately and placed it on her abdomen. "Please… I know it's hard. But that's all I ask of you."

Raoul didn't lift his head. He could feel Christine's hand trembling on his. He could feel the baby move. No. He didn't want Christine to have a miscarriage because of all this. He didn't want Christine to cry because of what he was about to do. But what ticked him the most was the part about Céleste.

"So Céleste has become a patroness and never told us?" he started, as calmly as he could.

"I understand why."

"Well, she did tell me when we went to see _Hannibal _that she wished to become a patroness."

"And she probably thought _he_ was gone and she decided to become a patroness then. But she was probably afraid of your reaction… I was in the way, wasn't I?" Christine added, with a nervous laugh.

Raoul nodded slightly, as he thought of his wife's last sentence. Yes, since she had crossed the Chagnys' door, Christine had always been some sort of obstacle for Céleste. She was simply everything his sister could never be. He remembered how, suddenly, she wasn't allowed to go and play with Christine and him. He remembered the violin lessons she took with M. Daaé. He remembered the Swedish violinist saying that Céleste could be a professional musician, if she wanted. He remembered the twinkle in her eyes, when she had heard those words. Was Céleste frustrated that contrarily to Christine, she had been forbid from showing her talents to the world? Of course she was. Had the Phantom seduced her with the promise that her violin-playing would be recognized and admired? No. Céleste wasn't taken in that easily.

"Do you know anything else? How it all… happened?"

"No," Christine answered. "I told you what I know: she encountered _him _when she had become a patroness, and somehow, she knows more about Soliman then you. There must be a good reason why she has teamed up with _him _so neither he or she will fall in his clutches. You know how she is, don't you?"

"Of course," replied Raoul. He knew his sister well enough to discern that she was sufficiently intelligent to forbid herself from any stupid or too-risky enterprise! So obviously, Soliman had many secrets… From who she held them, he had no idea… At first, he suspected Erik to have told tales to Céleste. But it just seemed so unlikely… she wasn't naïve at all…

Feeling Christine's glare on him, he came back to good old solid Earth, and to what he would have to decide. For a moment, he wanted to lift up his eyes towards the ceiling, to shout: "Why?" But he only looked into Christine's eyes. And he was stopped, and almost terrified by their pleading, almost desperate dimness.

He would do it. But only for her.

"I'll try to convince Philippe and Soliman to do things that way, Christine. But believe me; I'm doing this for you."

_Because if it was just of me, that madman would have died long ago. _

Immediately, a smile reappeared on Christine's face. At that moment, she immediately thought that she had never loved Raoul more than at that exact instant. And at the same time, the baby placed his tiny hand at the place where he had his posed on Christine's abdomen. The future parents looked at each other, intently.

Even the baby approved this.

* * *

><p>Céleste couldn't tell what time it was. She rather preferred not to know, afraid to see that the hours were passing even slower than usual. Nadir was behind his folding screen, smoking something, and Erik seemed like he had completely forgotten about her existence, sitting at his organ, trying from time to time some chords on them, some very quiet, some so formidable it made her jump. With him completely absorbed, Céleste took advantage of it to explore the lair.<p>

The first discovery she made was just behind a curtain. To her eyes revealed a library, filled, according to Céleste's quick estimate, with about two hundred books. Swiftly, with the shadow of a smile, she rushed towards them, having found the way of healing her start of boredom. Her eyes quickly read the books' titles. She could see that some of them were written in foreign languages. She knew a few herself: English, German, Italian, and very little Spanish. Some titles were written with characters totally unknown to Céleste, and some even reminded her of some illustrations she could see in the Arabian tales book of her childhood.

Finally, she took some sort of atlas, and sat down on cushions which seemed to be present for the reader. She traveled through the book, with its illustrations, some of them being even in color, of places she had never seen. Sometimes, when she saw a picture that pleased her more, she would close her eyes, dreamily, to imagine she had wings and that she was visiting those places. Then she would open them again, to come back on Earth. It was better not to dream too much. Life was so disappointing, after all.

She didn't know for how long she had remained there, when voices suddenly broke the silence and sort of awoken her, like if she had been in some sort of semi-sleep during the whole time she lingered in the library. Slowly, she lifted the curtain, to see, to her great surprise, Meg, talking with animation to Erik and the Daroga. Immediately, when the ballerina saw Céleste, she rushed towards her, like if she had completely forgotten the two men's existence.

"Céleste! Your brothers are here, with Soliman! M'man (By "M'man", Meg meant of course Mme Giry) saw them, and she has told me to come here by the short way as fast as I could, and unseen, since it's the way Raoul knows and that's probably the one they will be taking. I know how the traps work, so I didn't get caught in them… But it seems like since Soliman also knows how they work, they might be here any minute…"

As quick as a gust of wind, so quickly Céleste felt almost dizzy, Meg turned to Erik:

"M'man has told me you know the undergrounds well, and that we can get to them from here."

"Indeed," Erik answered. "But I'm not the only one, and we won't be able to hide there for very long," he added, gloomily.

"M'man said you could all hide in our apartment, the one we rented when the Opera Populaire had been burned. The lease lasts for a year, so we still own it."

"And at what address is it?"

"1851, Avenue de l'Île d'Or. We're in the basement."

"Perfect. Do you remember if there is some gully hole near?"

Meg closed her eyes, thinking intently.

"Yes, there was one just in front of our window. We could go into the apartment unseen thanks to the window!" Meg clapped her hands and made a little jump, happy to see they would succeed in this.

"Yes, that's all very nice," said the Daroga. "But all of us in the same place… It seems like some sort of mousetrap to me."

For a moment, silence reigned on the four people assembled there. It was only Céleste, lifting her head from the ground, who replied, in a clear voice:

"Monsieur Erik could come with me at the convent where I used to teach. I'm sure we could hide there."

"Wait, do you expect me to hide in a nunnery?" Erik asked, his voice full of sarcasm. "What's next? You'll disguise me as a nun as some sort of camouflage?"

"Seriously, I'm just about to let you find another hiding place," Céleste replied, looking wryly at Erik, reprising the exact same words he had himself used for Nadir, earlier. The Phantom immediately understood the reference, and looked unsympathetically at Céleste, who didn't even quail and lifted up one of her eyebrows cheekily, satisfied to see that she had won this point, at least. The Daroga rolled his eyes, while Meg bit her lip, trying very hard not to laugh in front of each person's reaction.

"I have a complete trust in the Mother Superior. I know she will do anything to help me." Céleste finally said.

Erik shrugged, and headed towards his organ, grabbing a bag where he inserted all the music sheets which were spread all around. Céleste, when she saw that he had accepted his plan, rushed to the swan bed, where she seized her bag, still full of all her belongings. The Daroga had also made a very quick luggage, and finally, guided by Erik, who had seized a torch, the four headed towards the back of the lair's cave, to see an opening, giving on a sort of tunnel. And ten minutes later, they arrived in what Meg and Céleste, at first, thought it was some sort of sewer, though there was no water, where the brown-stone walls were carved with skulls almost everywhere and sometimes, strange gargoyle-like creatures. They had entered the Paris catacombs.

Just at the moment where Philippe, Raoul and Soliman were entering the lair.

* * *

><p><strong>Answers to reviews:<strong>

**PhantomLilac: **Hello, are you interested in joining the Soliman anti-fan club? President, Erik Destler! XD

**Erik's guest: **Fluffy fluff. ;)

For Raoul and Christine… well, you'll see. And as for the fact they're not safe in the lair… Well, you'll see also. ;)

**Aria: **Whovians and members of Middle-Earth rule the world! And yeah, Pippin rocks. AND ARAGORN. I WANT HIM. XD EOWYN THE BADASS. GALADRIEL. GRUMPY GANDY. (*Mode member of Middle-Earth off*)

Yeah, Christine could be a little tougher… But she's pregnant, and I know that pregnant women crack up a lot more easily, and I think I accidently showed that I don't really have a very high esteem of her… Oh well.

I think that Erik does like to get ticked a bit, though he'll never admit it. XD It brings spice to his relation with Céleste. ;)

And about a good piercing-place… Besides Claire's, nope. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thanks! ;)

**PhantomFan01: **My phanfic will not be complete without an "Erik and Céleste torture Soliman" scene. XD

**Question of the day: Why do you think Erik and Céleste should end up together? **


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_This just isn't my day. _

Basically, this was the main sentence which tortured Raoul de Chagny's mind.

That afternoon, he had got ready, putting on worn off clothes and a pistol, and gently, kissed Christine, repeating to her the promise he had made to her. He would keep it. But only for her.

While he, with Philippe and Soliman, was heading towards the Opera Populaire, Raoul didn't participate to the conversation between his brother and the Shah's brother. He felt too sick for that. He even couldn't understand how they could just chatter like this. This wasn't just some party. And for the first time, Raoul was starting to think of the Phantom as a person. But to say that he was approaching of the point of pity, there was still a world separating him from it. And let's not talk about compassion…

For the first time since almost a year, Raoul got off the carriage and gazed at the Opera Populaire, memories invading his mind. It was half past four, now, and it was already almost dark. He gazed at the sculpture, in front of the Opera house, representing the Greek God of Arts, Apollo, with his lyre, remembering that it was just beside that sculpture that he had declared himself to Christine and that they had sworn to love each other, and that he would protect her. He remembered how they had, for a moment, thought there was someone near Apollo's lyre… But there was no one. At least, in appearance. Raoul was more and more convinced, later, that the Phantom was there. And now, he was wondering if the madman wasn't hiding there right now, gazing at them and interiorly laughing at them. Raoul, of course, knew the Phantom was no supernatural creature… But still, he felt nervous, and though Soliman had assured them he knew almost every twist the Angel of Death had invented, Raoul still didn't feel too reassured.

But he entered the Opera house anyway.

After all, being brave isn't about not being scared of who or what you are going to meet and what you are going to do. When such a thing happens, it's when somehow, you are not conscious of the dangers which are awaiting you. Being brave is to be afraid… but going on anyway.

Raoul recollected, with an inner smile, of everything Céleste had taught him. Now, he was realizing how much his sister had been a model for him, especially when their parents had passed away, and that slowly, Philippe and Céleste had become his replacement parents. His sister never seemed scared of anything. Perhaps she was, sometimes, but she never showed it.

He remembered, suddenly, the night where he was about four years old, and she was six, and that there was that big summer storm outside. Raoul was terrified of all those loud noises, and hiding as deeply as he could under his sheets didn't help at all in stopping the loud noises. Going into his parents' room would mean big trouble, and going to see Philippe would mean that his fourteen-year-old brother would just laugh at it and call him a coward. Raoul hated when that happened… Though back then, at that very moment, it was sort of true.

The only option left was to go and see Céleste. The two had never really been close before, but the little boy had told himself that since girls were scared a lot easier than boys, well, maybe he would find courage by protecting her of all the scary monsters that were roaring outside.

When, timidly, he had opened the door, he had the great surprise of seeing Céleste standing in her bed, her eyes glimmering, and, as she saw her brother entering, she had simply said: "Isn't it exciting?"

And immediately, Raoul had felt his sister's courage and somehow fascination for the storm filling him up.

He had approached his sister's bed story, and had cuddled up near her, looking at the storm raging from the window. Then, suddenly, a gust of wind had opened the window. The two children had gasped, and Raoul had felt Céleste's hand clutching his more tightly. But she didn't blink one bit.

Many years later, as he had rushed to go and save Christine to the Phantom's lair, he had thought, for a very brief moment, of that time when he had sworn to go on with his duties, even if he was scared or repugnant of fulfilling them.

Besides the Phantom-chase that was coming, the other thing that was genuinely annoying Raoul was the fact they could meet MM. Firmin and André, so they would make some embarrassing remark about the Chagnys' presence..

Thankfully, Soliman, as he had told them, had become a patron, to get closer to the Phantom, so, with him accompanying them, their presence wouldn't be too surprising for the other onlookers who weren't necessarily aware of the tragedy of about a year earlier. But Soliman couldn't do this alone, and the last key he needed to end the Angel of Death's nuisance was the road to his lair. And Raoul was the one who knew how, for he had gone to the undergrounds once, to save Christine. Now, the team only hoped not to meet MM. Firmin and André,

"Vicomte. It's been a while."

While they were heading towards the corridor where the entrance to the secret passageway to the undergrounds was, a clear contralto voice stopped them, and Raoul recognized it immediately. As Soliman, Philippe and Raoul turned towards it, they saw Mme Giry, absolutely impassive. And Philippe, though he didn't know her very well, he knew by Raoul the part she had played in the entire affair a year ago, and thought, for a moment, that he wouldn't want to have her as an adversary at a game of poker.

"Madame Giry," answered Raoul, politely, bowing his head. Though the ballerina mistress had helped him once to save Christine, today was a whole other matter. He didn't dare to look into her eyes, afraid that her piercing gaze would disclose everything.

"What business brings you here, vicomte, with your brother, I believe?" asked Mme Giry, always with her inexpressive mask on. "Have you decided to offer your patronage to the Opera house again?"

The uneasiness which was dominated Raoul had sort of instinctively rubbed off on Philippe. And it was almost with a certain relief that Soliman, his arrogance fully displayed, intervened.

"I must admit everywhere we go in the Opera house, Madame, you are everywhere," he started. "For a ballerina mistress, you are quite dominant… Who gives you this power, tell me?"

Without even blinking, Mme Giry, respectfully but firmly, answered:

"I've been in the Opera Populaire for many years, monsieur. The managers know they can honor me with their trust."

"No wonder, Madame," Soliman answered, with the "Madame" almost sounding like an insult.

Mme Giry was about to answer, when suddenly, she saw, just behind Soliman, a presence which made a little cheeky grin appear on her till-then motionless face. The Shah's brother, lifting up a brow at this unexpected behavior, turned quickly around… to see La Parilla.

"Well, mi amor, the old fool is busy tonight with something to do with his ghosts," started the prima donna, wrapping her arms around Soliman's neck. "So tonight…"

The Shah's brother didn't pay too much attention to the Chagny brothers' reaction. Anyway, it wasn't really grave, or even uncommon to see an engaged or married man having a mistress… If he did pay attention, he would have seen a shocked Raoul, furious of seeing that the man who had declared to love his sister had a mistress, and all this Phantom-hunt started to seem like some sordid settling of scores. And more than ever, he was disgusted, and the promise he had made to Christine was starting to look a lot easier to execute. And Philippe? Well, that didn't surprise him too much. And he was even getting envious. La Parilla already seem to have more spice than Domenica Sorelli… Though… it did tick him a bit that his sister's future husband had a mistress.

"Later," he answered, softly but firmly. "But don't worry… Tonight, I'll bring you a mask." He whispered, in a way neither Philippe nor Raoul could hear them. And the smile they exchanged showed that the prima donna had understood perfectly well what Soliman meant. She would get her revenge from that horrible night where her renowned beauty had been insulted. Because, well… the thing La Parilla loved most was, of course, herself.

As the prima donna, finally, moved away, the men realized that during the Parilla intermezzo, Mme Giry had disappeared. Without further ado, Soliman pressed Raoul to bring them to the passageway he knew, for, thankfully, it was the fastest path to the Phantom's lair.

Meanwhile, in her chamber, Mme Giry had sat on her bed, trembling, praying that Meg, who had took that same passageway a few minutes ago, to go and warn Erik, Nadir and Céleste of Soliman and the Chagnys' presence, would be fast enough not to encounter them…

When finally, they had entered the passageway, leading to the seemingly never ending staircase going round, and round, and round… memories overwhelmed Raoul's mind. He could almost hear: _"Hand at the level of your eyes…"_ like if it was muttered by the real wandering souls of the Opera Populaire. And, mentally, he was preparing himself for Céleste to appear, as the Phantom's willing prisoner, and then, the bargain: Céleste's freedom, in exchange of the disappearance of the Opera Ghost from the Populaire and from France.

Meanwhile, Soliman, like a sightless, held some sort of staff he would brandish in front of him, taping on the floor to see if there was any trap. From time to time, there was effectively one which started his effect, thankfully, not on them, but into the emptiness. And each time, Soliman knew exactly how to stop it, in a way they could go through safely. And somehow, though it was supposed to be reassuring, Raoul just felt more and more insecure, while it wasn't him at all who should be this way.

When finally, they had entered the lair by some sort of entrance which was on the side of it, Soliman muttered the almost magic sentence: "Hand at the level of your eyes…" and immediately, they all did so. Slowly, expecting to see the Phantom suddenly appearing at any moment (and Raoul expecting Céleste to appear also), they wandered through the lair, together, their gun charged in their hands to defend themselves just in case, and which would force Erik to obey and follow them.

But they searched, and searched, and it became more and more evident that the Phantom had left.

"Where is he?"

Soliman's almost roaring voice made both Raoul and Philippe jump.

"Maybe he's wandering somewhere else," said Philippe prudently. "We could hide here and take him by surprise when he'll come back."

"No, he's gone all right," Soliman replied, trying to calm down his exasperation. "That whor… that ballet mistress probably found a way to warn him… I'll have her questioned…"

Immediately, Raoul tried to save Mme Giry, though he was getting more and more distressed at the second. If the Phantom wasn't there… Céleste wasn't there. And where was she now?

"I don't think she did anything, Soliman. After all, she did help me to save Christine, and we arrived to the lair by the short way. It's impossible that she could have arrived before us and had _him _escape at the same time."

Soliman shrugged almost angrily, while Philippe, in a friendly manner, tapped him on the shoulder:

"Well, it's a shame we won't get to do any sport, today, but perhaps he'll finally understand that he has to fear us!"

But already, Raoul wasn't listening anymore. He was, in a certain measure, relieved to be freed, at least for an undetermined amount of time, from the promise he had made to Christine. But now, he was the only one to know that Céleste was somewhere in Paris with the Phantom, and it was now absolutely to find them. For a moment, he was tempted of telling everything to Philippe and Soliman…

But something he couldn't describe was holding him from doing such a thing.

Was it the hand of God, pointing in such a mysterious way the path of redemption to them?

Or was it the voice of the devil whispering at his ear, dragging them all to damnation?

* * *

><p>The little group, slowly but surely, walked throughout the catacombs, to finally cross many other tunnels, to arrive to what looked like a sewer. Still holding his torch high, Erik was opening the march, followed by Céleste, holding her bag in one hand and her violin case in the other, with Meg just beside her, and the Daroga just behind. During the whole journey, they had all remained silent, and didn't gaze at all at each other. It was only when Meg, whose hand was brushing against the sewer walls, suddenly screamed, that the silence was broke. Accidently, her hand had distractively touched a corpse, hanging by a rope attached to a beam. Erik turned around, looking very annoyed, and his torch, at the same time, lit up the two girls' faces. While the little ballerina was still trembling, Céleste, though she was pale, didn't blink one bit. Immediately, Meg blushed, saying nervously:<p>

"I'm sorry… I cry easily, I'll admit it."

"I can see that," Erik replied, darkly. "We're not the only ones to come here… But I know what to do if we have an inopportune meeting."

He had said the last in a more menacing way, and Meg and Céleste couldn't help shivering, since they both knew what he meant… Suddenly, Mlle de Chagny felt that the torch was now lighting more her face. She lifted her eyes, to see that Erik was studying her attentively. For a moment, she confronted his gaze, retaining herself from asking him: "So what?"

"Are you frightened?" he finally asked her.

Céleste breathed, and answered calmly: "No."

She wasn't lying. Yes, to see a corpse had shocked her and disgusted her authentically, but to say that she was scared… No. Even if she was, she was too proud to admit it, and especially to Erik. And… it was strange to say, but having him with her in this cold and dismal place was somehow reassuring.

As he heard her laconic answer, Erik got closer, until he was maybe at a few centimeters of her face. Céleste didn't dare to move.

"Then you're not nearly frightened enough."

Puzzled by his last sentence, Céleste didn't pay any attention to Meg and to the Daroga, and continued to walk silently, trying to understand what the Phantom meant.

"We're here."

Mlle de Chagny gasped, not realizing that many minutes had passed since she had remained silent, immured in her thoughts and her puzzlement. She could see rungs built in the walls, and quickly, in an almost feline way, Erik climbed then, to knock a bit on the ceiling and to reveal an opening which lightened them all. It was the gully hole, just beside the Girys' apartment, that Meg had talked about to the Phantom a few hours earlier.

For a moment, Erik got out of the sewer by the hole, and meanwhile, Céleste, Meg and the Daroga could hear a very dull clinging. After the noise stopped, the Phantom immediately came back, and descended the rungs as swiftly as he had climbed them.

"The window is opened so you two can enter unseen," Erik announced to Nadir and Meg. "Unfortunately, you'll have to repair what was holding it closed. It doesn't look like a robbery, it's like you broke from the inside, don't worry."

"Thank you," said Meg, with a smile. Making sign to the Persian to follow her, the ballerina immediately headed towards the rungs and climbed them, followed closely by her companion. And soon, Erik and Céleste were left alone in the darkness only fought by the torch, as Meg closed the gully hole.

"So… where's that convent of yours again?"

"It is on the Avenue du Sacré-Coeur. It's pretty much the only building on that street. Just in front, there's a little park… But it's pretty much only the students who go there, and they're actually in vacation. So I don't think we'll meet anyone."

"No, especially that it will be night when we'll arrive there. He'll take us at least three hours to go there."

"Well…" Céleste said, mischievously. "You'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea of being in a nunnery."

Erik mumbled something incomprehensible, and without further ado, he parted, followed closely by Céleste, who couldn't help from showing a wide smile.

They spent about half an hour without saying a word, when finally, Mlle de Chagny, who had tried to find some sort of conversation without finding anything, and who had gazed at the Phantom's bag, remembered that he had brought all his music sheets with him. Probably all his work… Why not talk about that? Erik was perhaps not very talkative… But the silence which was surrounding them was becoming heavy.

"So what are you composing right now?" she finally asked.

Erik stopped, and looked at her for a moment, surprised, before snorting and continuing his pace. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because." Céleste shrugged. "By the way, the aria you gave at the Masquerade Ball was beautiful. I tried to play it, you know. It's beautiful… truly."

"Really?" Erik still wasn't looking at her, but Céleste could feel a hint of excitement in his voice. And she couldn't help smiling somehow maternally.

"Yes… it made me think of a snow storm, you know," she added. As she continued to walk, Céleste thought for a moment of the Masquerade Ball night. She thought of her Snow Queen costume. The aria. Gustave Daaé's tales… And the coincidence formed in front of her eyes.

"It's funny, you know… The dress I had for the Masquerade, the aria… Well, when I was a little girl, _The Snow Queen _was my favorite story… How did you know?"

A shadow of a smile appeared on Erik's lips. For a moment, he wanted to tell her how much she looked like the title character, with her force, her beauty and at the same time, her despair… but he couldn't, of course. He simply answered:

"I just did."

No more was said between them. But the silence was now sweet and appeasing.

Two hours passed quickly, as they crossed the catacombs with their walls made of skulls again, then to more tunnels and another sewer. Erik, finally, stopped in front of rungs.

"We're here," he said.

He climbed, followed closely by Céleste, who had placed her bag on her shoulder, and held her violin in one hand, while the other was seizing the rung. Erik, arrived on top, opened the gully hole, got out, and helped Céleste to get out, to immediately close everything just after. Immediately, the young woman took a deep breath, happy to be back in the open air, and she gazed at all the stars which had now invaded the sky. She looked around her. The street was just behind them, and it was desert. The convent's entrance was just in front of them.

"It's up to you, now," Erik declared, handing the torch to her.

With a smile, Céleste took it gently, and headed towards the door leading to the lay sister's post.

**Answers to reviews:**

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><p><strong>PhantomLilac: <strong>Sarcastically gorgeous XD Yup, everyday life will never get boring for them indeed…

And sorry, Erik has already named Céleste vice-president… I tried to explain to him what democracy is, but it's no use… *Sigh*

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Raoul on cat-burglar mode… WHY? XD

I just had to insert that Erik/Christine/Céleste awkward moment… XD It's interesting, after all, to see what Erik's reaction could be if he sees Christine and Céleste in the same room, now…

Well, Erik chloroforming Céleste to be obliged to wake her up after does give us an idea of her character… The only way of shutting her up is to make her faint. XD And if Céleste had brought her shawl, Erik wouldn't have lent her his cape… Tee-hee.

Erik does normally sleep in the swan bed… I don't know, in this story, since he isn't the "Living Corpse" and that he has what I call the "25th anniversary disfigurement", I don't really see why he would sleep in a coffin. But what you said about it made me imagine Erik trying to sleep while Nadir is snoring, and that, exasperated, he just slams the coffin's lid… XD

Anyway, why would he have a guest bed?

Talking about beds… There is one thing I would have loved to see Erik do in the movie… Just seeing him just after the Masquerade crushing on the swan bed and moaning at the same time, and just staying there… It's just so cute… XD

Poor bullied Erik… OMG, now I'm seeing Erik doing a sad puppy face… XD

Soliman is getting careless because he's a bit too self-confident for his own sake… a bit like Erik, actually. ;)

Céleste undressing and stumbling on the Persian, with Erik who hears them cry, makes a face-palm and goes "Oh sh*t." THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN EPIC. XD

About Erik's clothes supplier… I didn't think of that… But I think his supplier receiving a different size for the women clothing would shrug and say to himself: "Oh, he has a new mistress now." XD

And yes, it takes Erik Destler and Céleste de Chagny to drive Nadir Khan crazy! XD

The convent? It isn't that easy to find someone there… There are tons of bedrooms there (or cells, if you prefer), it's a rather enclosed place… I think that's the reason why Jean Valjean, for instance, hid there for so many years without being found by Javert… And you'll get to meet the nuns, don't worry. XD (Now I'm seeing Soliman entering by mistake a nun's cell and getting totally knocked out by her. XD)

The only way Erik can be safe is to leave the country. He could start off a new life, and everything, since he isn't searched for murder in other countries… And Christine knows that if he wants to bring Céleste with him, he will. ;)

And no, Raoul has never been advised by Philippe that Céleste had become a patroness, for his mental sake. XD

Raoul does think very well of Céleste, indeed. After all, when his parents died, Céleste was a bit his second mother. And (involuntarily) I think she gave him a lot of her own courage and nobleness. I'll develop on that later. ;)

Remember (probably that wasn't really clear…), Raoul knows that Céleste is with Erik. So the bargain will go like this:

"Free Céleste, and we'll let you run away." Yes, Christine can be intelligent sometimes. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean: **You resumed it very well. ;)

**Aria: **It's true that Céleste is a lot more Erik's equal than Christine. And I think that that is what Erik needs: someone who can stand up to him. ;)

Well, there's a very good reason why Christine demands that in exchange of Erik's life, he has to leave the country: it's the only thing Raoul will accept, since he doesn't want Erik around Christine and now Céleste. He can't just stay there. And well, if Erik leaves the country, he is only researched for murder in France, so in another country, he would already be safer… You see what I mean? ;) And he's smart and resourceful enough to build himself a new life… But the thing is, Erik and the Opera Populaire… it's a long story. ;)

Erik and Céleste arguing… Gosh, it will never stop. XD

The nunnery? Hey hey. ;)

You can join the Soliman anti-fan club… Inside my miiiiiiiiiind… *out*

**Erik's guest: **You're very welcome. ;) It's a great idea to use them, since the lair is, after all, underground. :D And yes, I guess that when Mme Giry wasn't available (especially during the time where Erik was pretending to be dead or gone just after the Opera Populaire's fire), he was using the underground. ;)

**PhantomFan01: **Love of music… *swoons* And don't worry, they didn't find her… Not yet. Mwahaha.

**inujisan: **A maze of skulls… Mwahahaha. XD

**I must say I'm rather surprised that no one pointed out that Erik and Céleste basically have the same soul, only gone on different variations… But I guess that will become clearer as the story goes on. **

**Question of the day: Who is your favorite POTO character and why? **


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The front alley was long, and Céleste and Erik, afraid to be seen, though the surroundings were desert, were walking quickly. But their senses, more acute than usual because of their nervousness, were paying attention to everything surrounding them. They advanced, in an almost feline way, like if their feet stomping on the ground could make too much noise. Suddenly, a snow ball stroke Céleste on the shoulder. Erik immediately jumped, looking around him, with an almost murderous glare in his eyes. But Mlle de Chagny, soon, put a hand on her shoulder to calm him down, with a little malicious grin on her lips.

Placing her finger on her lips, she handed the torch to Erik, turned around, towards a heap of snow which was seemingly amassed against one of the convent's walls. As quick as lightening, Céleste went behind it, and with a joyful and loud: "AH HA!", a childish and blissful scream, though contained by some piece of clothing like a scarf, made itself heard, and soon, to Erik's great surprise, Céleste came back, carrying in her arms what looked like a package, where he could only see a sort of bunch made of a winter coat, a long woolen green scarf, and a mass of auburn curls. And soon, as Céleste posed it on the ground, the pixie face of a little girl not much older than seven finally showed itself.

"Mademoiselle Clémence," Mlle de Chagny finally said, with a falsely angry tone, "May I know why you are outside at this hour, and not preparing yourself to go to the chapel for the Compline?"

The so-named Clémence lowered her eyes, pouting embarrassingly in the funniest way. But immediately, she lifted up her head, and said, in an excited tone:

"So you are back, Mademoiselle? And you brought your husband with you?"

Quickly, taken completely by surprise, Céleste turned almost nervously to Erik, very pale, while he was seemingly looking somewhere else. But she promptly gained back some coolness.

"No. He's just a friend. Now, Clémence, listen to me closely. I want you to go and get the Mother Superior. Just say it's me, I'll be at the parlor… don't talk about my friend. I want it to be a surprise, do you understand?" Céleste winked at the little girl, who nodded, a mischievous complicity in her eyes. "Say it's an emergency, all right?"

Little Clémence nodded and rushed towards the door… But she suddenly stopped. She turned around, and looked at Erik for a moment, like if she had finally seen the mask he was wearing. But there was no fear in her eyes, nor was there suspicion. It was just the natural and innocent curiosity of a little girl, who, very quickly, got interested in something else which was seemingly a lot more exciting.

"Mademoiselle… What do you have, there?" asked the girl, pointing towards the violin case.

"It's also a surprise!" Céleste replied, with a smile. "Now go!"

Without further ado, Clémence turned away, and opened the door, slamming it behind her.

"Now… We can enter the parlor directly by this door," said Céleste to Erik, pointing the entrance to him and guiding him towards it. "I'm glad I met Clémence, I won't be obliged to pass by the lay sister. Don't show yourself right now… I'll explain everything to the Mother Superior… She'll help me, you can trust her."

Erik nodded, though he didn't seem too sure about all this. He knew that he could trust Céleste… but to trust the nuns was a whole other thing. Hiding his uncertainty, he plunged the torch in the snow, to extinguish it.

He thought, suddenly, of the little intermezzo with the little girl, a few minutes earlier. It had surprised her, but in a charming way. Céleste, for good, had seemed to have totally forgotten all her usual reserve. It had lasted only a minute… But the smile which had appeared on her face, while she was lifting Clémence from the ground, made her even more beautiful than ever… She still was, in other moments. When she was proud, there was something cold, almost royal, and made her distance somehow appealing by its mystery. When she was angry, it was breathtaking and powerful. When she was teasing him, though it really annoyed him (in a sort of agreeable way), he liked how her eyes would twinkle, and the twist in her smile. But when she was invaded by joy… Her eyes gleamed even more, bluer than ever, and her face was transfigured.

He thought also of the quick, wondering gaze the little girl had given her, just before asking Céleste about the violin. That, also, was comforting. There was curiosity, of course, and surprise to see him wearing a mask. But it didn't seem to go much farther than that… And for the first time, Erik started to truly believe in children's innocent, sightless hearts.

For a moment, Erik listened to the silence which surrounded him. Yes, you can listen to silence. And, for the first time since… since he couldn't actually remember when, he felt peace. Was it because of where he was currently? Maybe. Then, finally, he turned to Céleste.

"I don't remember you being so… charming," he said, with the shadow of a grin.

Céleste lifted up a brow, and turned away with a smile.

"It's a little orphan who's raised at the convent," she started to explain. "When I spent a year here teaching, she wouldn't let me alone one second. And if I asked her to go and get me the moon, she would do it," she giggled.

They finally entered the building, into a room where Erik could see two chairs in front of a counter dominated by a grille, which enfolded completely the other side of the room from them. It was the sisters' enclosure, the visible sign that they were living apart from the world, to spend a life praying and teaching young girls for the glory of the Lord.

Soon, Céleste pointed out a curtain to Erik, on the side of the room.

"Hide behind that for now. You'll hear everything," she assured him.

Footsteps could be heard from the other side of the door, so Erik, without further ado, disappeared behind the black drape.

Soon, Mother Marie-Anne, the superior and principal of the nuns' boarding school, entered. A very light and reassuring smile was on her lips, as she sat down on her chair. And, for a moment, Céleste forgot that the grille was separating them from each other.

"Mademoiselle de Chagny," she started, in a very quiet, but firm voice. "It's been a while. What brings you here at this hour? Clémence told me to come quickly, and I advised the sisters I'll have to recite my Compline without them. For the first time in twenty-two years! The last time, it was because of the Revolution in 1848."

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Mother. But I must say tonight is an emergency. But first… everyone is at the chapel, right?"

"Yes. Speak like if you were at confession, child, don't worry."

Without further ado, Céleste told the essential of the story to Mother Marie-Anne, without telling that Erik was with her, by being very brief on her escape, which sort of looked like she had come to the convent alone and that somehow, he had taken another path. At the same time, she was paying special attention to any noise coming from the curtain, hoping that Erik wouldn't intervene while she was speaking. But thankfully, it seemed like she was diplomatic enough to the Phantom's very difficult taste.

When she was finished, Mother Marie-Anne didn't answer. Her head hidden by her hands, the old nun seemed like she was thinking intently. Finally, lifting up her chief, she started by saying:

"You can tell that young man he can get out of behind the curtain."

Céleste gasped, surprised that the Mother Superior had guessed that Erik was there, for she was sure he hadn't made a noise. And it was a somehow apprehensive Phantom who got out, also astonished of Mother Marie-Anne being so perceptive.

"Don't worry," said the nun, in a soft but firm voice. "I won't hand you over to the police, or the Chagnys. Sit down."

Mother Marie-Anne's gentle authority seemed to have completely won over Erik, who did as she said. Céleste retained herself from smiling. It took only a nun to tame the infamous Opera Ghost… Hmm.

"Now… You'll stay here for the next three weeks, as Mlle de Chagny has told her brothers. Meanwhile, we'll try to find a way for you to get out of this… You could try to flee to another country, but I suppose that to rebuild your life won't be easy, I assume?"

Erik nodded, his heart tightened at the only idea of abandoning _his_ Opera house. Already, he didn't feel too reassured of it being without him tonight, and for the next several weeks… But to leave it forever… it was simply heartbreaking.

"And for you, Mademoiselle… I must say I have a lot of trouble with the fact your brother is planning to marry you with a man who isn't even a Christian… really!" Mother Marie-Anne sighed. "I'll inform the other sisters of your presence. Don't worry," the nun added, seeing Erik's reaction. "They will be kept by their sacred vow of obedience to remain silent about your presence. They know what penitence is awaiting them if they disobey… Anyway, I'll have to. The only man we have here is the gardener. He lives just outside the convent, and it isn't safe for you to stay there. I'll have to get you pass the grille… It's exceptional, usually, only nuns are permitted to be in it. But we have no choice. Our Lord did say anyway that what we do to our neighbor, we do it to Him."

While she was speaking, the Mother Superior looked closely at the white mask which was hiding half of Erik's features. Mortified by this unwanted study that always gave him the impression that he was some freak (_What I probably am_, thought Erik), he turned away, not at all feeling embarrassed of showing his annoyance to the nun. He was already retaining himself from saying something quite impertinent… Céleste observed him grimly, though she could understand her reaction, while the Mother Superior had a very light smile, undecipherable.

Quickly, Mother Marie-Anne looked at the clock which was on a shelf, and, getting up, she said:

"Compline will be over very soon. I'll have to interrupt it before the sisters sing the _Alma Redemptoris Mater_, since after that, it's the Great Silence until tomorrow. I'll advise them immediately. Wait for me here. I'll come back to get you when everyone has returned to their cells and I'll guide you to your rooms."

* * *

><p>Erik hadn't slept at all. Or almost.<p>

Céleste and he had waited for about a quarter of an hour in the parlor, without even speaking to each other. They were both all plunged in their thoughts, which were far away from being agreeable. Yes, for now, they had found a way of getting themselves out of trouble… But this situation wouldn't last forever.

When, finally, the Mother Superior had returned, she had opened a door which, closed, seemed to be part of the grille. Erik and Céleste entered this almost sacred part of the convent, where usually only the nuns were authorized to be. Without a word, respecting the Great Silence that had to be kept after the hymn to the Virgin Mary was sung, Mother Marie-Anne guided them to a staircase, which took them to a corridor with many doors: the doors of the nuns' cells. She opened one of them, made sign to Erik to enter and closed the door immediately behind him.

He had collapsed on the bed, not at all bothered by the hard mattress. After all, he had known worse than that. He had never slept much in all his life, but now, he couldn't do as he wished anymore. To have the whole convent after him and to lose the only rescue which was given to him, for now… He didn't want that.

Wrapping himself in his cloak, Erik tried so hard not to think of anything (which was difficult, considering the present situation) and to be less tensed that finally, he fell asleep.

_He blinked, and closed his eyes again, unaccustomed to the light, and started to hear, in the fog of the land of dreams that he was slowing leaving, the sound of water flowing not too far away. He opened his eyes, to see the swan bed's canopy._

_He wasn't alone. He could hear someone breathing just beside him._

_He turned around, to see that Christine was just next to him, asleep._

_So this was all just a bad dream. All this madness had never happened._

_Strangely, though she was turned towards him, he couldn't feel her warm b reath tickling his skin. With a trembling hand, still having trouble believing what he saw just before his eyes, he wanted to at least touch Christine's cheek gently… but, as soon as his hand made contact with her skin, her cheek seemed to disintegrate._

_Frantically, he stroked her hair, her arms, her hands… But the more he touched her, the more she turned into some sort of powder. When finally, he backed away from her, her body, without making any warning, crumb led into dust._

_He finally gasped, terrified of what had happened. Yes, he had seen many things, in his entire life, but that… He tried to scream, as a way to get out all the fear and the anger that were strangling him, but he was unable of letting out the littlest sound. Suddenly, warm, delicate, soft hands posed themselves on his shoulders, caressing almost sensually. Immediately, all his inner tension disappeared almost magically._

_"Don't worry," said a crystal-like voice. "Everything will be fine."_

_Slowly, he turned towards the voice, to see her. Almost hesitantly, he got closer to her, and gently, set his head on her shoulder, smelling her delicate perfume which he recognized well, thanks to that night where he had lent his cape to her, so she would stay warm. Her neck was so near… And he had to fight very hard against the temptation of kissing it…_

_But, as he turned slowly towards her face, the sight of another one, a lot less welcomed, caught his eye. As quick as a viper, Soliman seized her, pulling her hair and dragging her away from him, throwing her towards a corner, where she fell on the floor like a rag doll. And, in a swift gesture, the Shah's brother ripped his mask and the wig off. And suddenly, without any explication, he couldn't breathe anymore._

_He was dying._

A sweating Erik woke up, retaining himself from letting a cry get out. For a moment, he put his hand on his mask, making sure it was still there, and looked, panicked, around him, surprised to be elsewhere than his lair, in this very simple room which seemed like a prison cell. But slowly, he remembered everything that had happened the previous day, and exhaled of relief.

He tried as much as possible to forget about his nightmare, which troubled his spirit on so many levels. He closed his eyes, emptying his mind like he had done before to try and fall asleep again. But he was unable of doing so.

Patiently, he waited, the hours slipping away, while his bed seemed more and more like a torture plank where he had been abandoned.

And finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

Slowly, Erik got up, fussing over his clothes so there would be no creases. As silently as he could, he opened his cell's door, and got out.

He had no idea towards where he was walking. He just needed to get out. No one would see him, anyway, since the convent was still under that spell called the Great Silence, established by an almost sacred law, which controlled almost every detail of a nun's life, until her death.

As he wondered through the convent's corridors, he finally arrived in front of two enormous doors, which seemed to Erik quite solemn in comparison to the other ones, which were rather modest. Pushed by curiosity, he opened one, carefully, and gazed into the room.

The dim light of candles lighted up devoutly here and there produced enough brightness to make him realize that he was in the nuns' chapel. Mechanically, he entered, and looked all around him.

He advanced carefully, and, when he got to the middle of the chapel, he looked up, all around him. It was only then that at the back, the rood loft, and more particularly, the organ that was there, almost perched on it, caught his eye.

Erik quickly saw the stairs which leaded to the rood loft, and climbed them silently, to arrive in front of the organ. The instrument had absolutely nothing to do with his. It was an enormous one, and of an excellent quality indeed: a Casavante, to be more precise.

He sat on the organ's seat, in an almost solemn way, gazing in a way similar to a child looking at a coveting toy, his mouth slightly opened. He took a glove off, then another, and caressed the keys lightly, with some sort of reverence. He looked, for a moment, at the heavy stone walls of the chapel. Was the place soundproof? Probably.

Anyway, he remembered he was far away from the cells.

He just had to play a little. Just five minutes.

Without further ado, his hands wandered on the keys, becoming more and more voluble as he took assurance. And, as the fugue he was playing reached its end, he lifted his head, and smiled. It was time to see what the organ was capable of. And so, he attacked the instrument in his full strength.

The organ was roaring, in a power that almost carried him away himself. And, now, there was no turning back for and the organ were only one and unique entity. The Apocalypse could have accomplished itself in the outside world, he would have never been aware of it.

A gentle pat on his shoulder made him jump, and suddenly, he looked around him, surprised of this strangely brutal reconnection with the real world. He finally saw Céleste, an amused look on her face. He frowned at her, furious of being interrupted by her while he was improvising.

"May I know WHY you stopped me?" he growled. "And anyway, what are you doing here at this hour? It's still night, I can see that thanks to the window."

Céleste's smile widened, not at all tamed by a fuming Erik.

"Well, the nuns sing Matins at a quarter past five in the morning. We have entered here hearing you bang on the organ and now everyone is waiting for you to stop so we can start."

"I. Was. Not. Banging," muttered Erik, punctuating his sentence for a better emphasis.

But already, Céleste wasn't listening to him anymore. Instead, she was facing the chapel's chancel, looking from time to time towards him, like if she was inviting him to look there as well. Slowly, Erik turned around, to see that all the nuns were standing there, looking towards the rood loft.

Erik, at that very moment, wanted to be at least a hundred feet underground.

He stayed there awkwardly for a moment, with absolutely no idea what to do. Run away like a coward? No. Ignore them? With fifty pairs of eyes observing him, and with his ignorance of the place and its hiding places, that wouldn't be possible.

Say that he was sorry? No. Please.

_God, I haven't been that embarrassed since… since when, actually?_

After ten very long seconds, Erik cleared his throat and mumbled to the sisters, with an almost imperceptible bow:

"Ladies…"

It was only then that the nuns turned away and seated themselves, to start singing Matins.

Almost dumbly, Erik sat back on the organ's bench, while Céleste took a chair not too far away and sat near him. Soon, the sung prayers started, and the two of them felt immediately calmed down by the calm, clear and in-tune voices of the nuns.

* * *

><p>When the morning prayers were over, Céleste and Erik stayed in the rood loft, still in the sort of relaxing bubble which had invaded them during Matins. It was only when Mother Marie-Anne, slowly, went to join them that they finally got out of their reverie.<p>

"Mademoiselle, you can join Clémence and the lay sister for breakfast. I'll take care of Monsieur here."

Céleste immediately got up, glanced quickly at Erik, with a bit of concern in her eyes, rushed down the stairs as slowly as she could, and got out of the chapel. As soon as the heavy doors closed on her, Erik's breath seemed to stop. He mocked himself for feeling that way, but he felt insecure. Truly, he did. Though he had absolutely no reason for such a feeling, since the only person there with him was some old nun who looked like she only had two or three years left to live, and who probably thought herself probably dead, since she practically had nothing but skin and bone. But she was the kind of woman you just couldn't look straight into her eyes…

Now, Erik just hoped the Mother Superior wouldn't make some remark about his little improvisation on the organ…

"Your breakfast will be served in the cell where you have slept," she started, calmly.

Erik nodded. Yes, it was the best thing to do… but still…

"I hope you won't feel too much like a prisoner," added the nun, translating exactly in words Erik's thoughts, and observing him intently.

The Phantom, at that moment, felt genuinely annoyed. And that nun was going to be aware of it. Nun, or not. She could be a prostitute, the Queen of France, a bearded woman, the Pope's sister, it didn't make a difference for him, at least for now.

"If it's a confession you want from me, you're losing your time. And if your very boring life needs to be satisfied by some morbidity I can give you by showing to you what you want to see, it's also useless," Erik snapped.

Surprisingly, Mother Marie-Anne didn't seem to get angry at all. She didn't even seem offended. Instead, her smile widened a bit.

"I'm not at all obliging you to anything. But I do believe you're at a crucial part of your life."

"What do you know of my life, anyway, beside what Céleste has told you? What do you know of life, while being enclosed here? You nuns just run away from the world."

"Not all of us. There is a branch of our community that works in Asia and in Africa, here and there, as missionaries. We have schools and hospitals for the poor. I worked there for several years." There was a silence, before she continued: "I was in a leper hospital."

Slowly, Mother Marie-Anne gazed towards the crucifix that dominated the chapel, before adding: "I've seen many horrible things… I've seen men, women, even children without even a face, who were swearing against God because of their misery. They were rotting alive, while their soul was somehow imprisoned in their body. But all they needed was love… and they died in peace, because they knew that God, and the nuns that took care of them loved them."

For a moment, she let Erik in his thoughts, hoping that it would help him to see clearer. Then, finally, she continued:

"Have you ever thought of God, sir?"

"He should maybe think of me first," snorted Erik, his dark mood coming back in the blink of an eye.

"What if I told you God has suffered just as much as you?"

A heavy silence installed itself between them. Then Erik looked at Mother Marie-Anne, disbelievingly, his eyes yelling: "Do you think I'm an idiot and that I'm going to gobble all the pious nonsense you're telling me?" But he simply answered: "I don't believe that. He's God. Every idiot on Earth loves him."

Erik hadn't realized the insulting epithets he had used. But the Mother Superior pretended not to hear him. Instead, she pointed out towards the chapel's crucifix, and more especially towards the sculpture of the Man nailed on it, and started, in a solemn voice, quoting the prophet Isaiah:

"He had no form or charm to attract us, no beauty to win our hearts; he was despised, the lowest of men, a man of sorrows, familiar with suffering, one from whom, as it were, we averted our gaze, despised, for whom we had no regard. Yet ours were the sufferings he was bearing, ours the sorrows he was carrying, while we thought of him as someone being punished and struck with affliction by God; whereas he was being wounded for our rebellions, crushed because of our guilt; the punishment reconciling fell on him, and we have been healed by his bruises. We had all gone astray like sheep, each taking his own way, and God brought the acts of rebellion of all of us to bear on him. Ill-treated and afflicted, he never opened his mouth, like a lamb led to the slaughter-house, like a sheep dumb before its shearers he never opened his mouth. Forcibly, after sentence, he was taken. Which of his contemporaries was concerned at his having been cut off from the land of the living, and his having been struck dead for his people's rebellion? He was given a grave with the wicked, and his tomb is with the rich, although he had done no violence, had spoken no deceit."

The nun stopped, and looked towards Erik. His eyes were fixed on the crucifix. For a moment, the Mother Superior let him for a time in his silence, before finally asking him softly: "Shall we go?"

Erik nodded, and slowly, he followed Mother Marie-Anne towards the cell that had been assigned to him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: How priceless was that? **

**And Mother Marie-Anne's talk about Christ's suffering comes from the Bible, the book of Isaïah, chapter 53 to be more precise. **

**Answers to reviews:**

**Erik's guest:** Well, one thing's for sure, if I ever go to Paris, I'll go visit the catacombs, or at least the museum, since they are closed right now! There are so many famous personalities buried there… Molière… Jean de La Fontaine… Élisabeth de France… Gosh, the history lover in me just wants to go there. ;)

I don't think I'll dress up Erik as a nun… He wouldn't forgive me that. XD But he's going to have A LOT of awkward moments at the convent, I think… Here comes Erik on adorkable mode. XD

**Aria:** Thanks for your encouragements, it's so REALLY appreciated! ;)

I wanted to get away from those too-many phanfics where Raoul is the bad guy or a jerk. It's one of my biggest phanfic pet peeves, not to say THE biggest. I mean, to me, may it be in Leroux or ALW, Raoul is just the typical nice guy who wants to help and save the girl he loves, and that's it. So, between his hatred for Erik and his love for Christine, he will of course choose the latter. But for him to become friends with Erik, to have compassion… it will take a bit of a while, to talk delicately. He is human, after all, and he has to forgive a lot of things to Erik. If we were at Raoul's place, I'm 100% certain we would have acted exactly the same.

What do you mean poor Meg? XD She's always been cast into the shadows (Christine's shadow, to be more precise), now she has the chance to be truly a hero eventually. She's gutsy, and she could be of big help… ;) Actually, Meg being always in the shadows is what I will be developing in Silent Angel. (And I don't know why, but Emilie de Ravin/Belle in Once Upon a Time really makes me think of Meg…)

Meg… I don't know, I think she does suspect something (she's very intuitive, just look at her in the movie) and I don't really suppose she'll react badly… Mme Giry will probably have the reaction you described at first, but… she wants Erik to be happy. And I think she'll do her best to help Erik and Céleste if they ever need it… (and gosh I think they will.)

YOU DON'T WANT THEM TO GET MARRIED? *takes chill pills*

Gosh, you think the Chagnys are an effing family? Just look at Henry Mills' family in Once Upon a Time.

And NO, I SWEAR I'M NOT SENDING ERIK TO AMERICA, AND THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN IN ANY OF MY PHANFICS. I would think too much of LND… Ew.

I think the reason why you're changing your mind so often about Christine is that often, in phanfics, she's OOC, which means here, SHE ACTUALLY HAS A SPINE. And sometimes, I feel like I'm just reading an Erik/OC fanfic and that the author was just too lazy to invent a new name and another background…

**TheCrimsonPen:** No, I actually would! ;) Well, if you want to, of course. ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean:** The funny thing is that there are really skulls everywhere in the Paris catacombs. XD And I'm going to check out that anime version of Les Mis… Gosh, that story makes me cry every time. Especially the part with Fantine.

**lorxy:** Thanks. ;) And doesn't everybody love Erik/Céleste moments? XD

**Guest:** Thank you so much! And glad you like the Erik/Céleste relationship. That's exactly what I wanted: you know, they're not just wasting their time swooning and just looking at each other's pretty eyes… No, they tease each other, they argue, and then they have suddenly those really tender, fluffy moments… They'll never get bored with each other. XD

**PhantomFan01:** Thanks. ;)

**YourPhan:** Gosh, you did POTO with your class? OMG YOU ARE SO LUCKY! I wish I could do that one day… My voice isn't too bad, I would like to play Meg since she isn't too hard of a part to sing (though I'll have to get good in ballet because I stink in that), but I'm brunette, Meg is blonde and I can't wear a blonde wig just like that, I look terrible as a blonde unless I get serious makeup… LET'S GO BACK TO LEROUX POTO WHERE CHRISTINE WAS THE BLONDE AND MEG THE BRUNETTE!

**Lilly:** The Sound of Music? Well… yes, until a certain point. Gosh, I never thought of that! XD (Let's just say I had a bit of a Sound of Music overdose, so… I've still not recovered completely from that. XD) But I'll have a look at the book you suggested me. ;)

**So… I must I'm not surprised at all to see that most of you stated your favorite character is Erik! My turn to answer the question…**

**So for what is of the book, my favorite character is the Daroga, with Erik coming very close. The Daroga is just awesome, I love the aura of mystery around him, and he seems to be the only one not to be really afraid of Erik (though he's fully conscious he's dangerous). I love Leroux-Erik too, he's complex, so much more than in the ALW version…**

**In the ALW version… It would be Meg, well, more movie-Meg. She was just awesome and badass at the same time, and kind… I love Erik too for his complexity, I love Mme Giry (more movie-Mme Giry, I don't understand why most phans don't like her… well okay, she wasn't like the Mme Giry we know from the musical… but forget about the musical and just see how awesome movie-Madame is) for her mystery and at the same time her maternal side…**

**So voilà! ;)**

**Question of the day: Who is your favorite Phantom and why?**


	20. Chapter 19

**A/N: As much as I find it so easy to write Raoul/Christine fluff… writing Raoul confronting Christine about her feelings for Erik is hard… I can express my thoughts on Christine's feelings in a rant, but here… Sheesh, it's hard. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19<strong>

Seven o'clock was ringing when Raoul, Philippe and Soliman left the Opera house, to go in their respective homes. The Chagny brothers entered their house, to see that supper was already all ready for them. Raoul alleged as a pretext that he wasn't hungry to immediately rush to his room and see Christine. Philippe wasn't too surprised, thinking that probably, all these emotions had worn the poor kid off.

It was a very anxious Christine who rushed as quickly as her pregnancy would permit her towards Raoul, even more worried by the haggard look on her husband's face.

"Raoul… Please, tell me. What happened?"

Softly, the vicomte took her head, leaning it on his chest, and hugged her tightly against him, trying to stop the trembling in her body.

"We arrived in the lair, Christine… And there was no one. They probably managed to escape."

Raoul looked at his wife, hoping that it would somehow reassure her. Well, that sure didn't reassure him. To know his sister was somewhere in Paris with _him_ was killing the young man.

But it didn't. Her trembling became only more intense, much to Raoul's dismay.

"Oh my," she muttered. "I hope they're all right."

This was beginning to be a bit too much for Raoul to bear. Christine was obviously worrying more about the Phantom than Céleste. He could feel it. Well, the vicomte could sort of understand why, but… He wanted to slap himself for thinking of such a thing and doubting about Christine, but he was starting to wonder what kind of feeling she had towards the man who had once been her Angel of Music.

"Christine," Raoul asked in a firm, but soft voice, though it was hard, "Why are you worrying so much about him?"

As he was speaking, he was looking intently in Christine's eyes. And in one glance, she saw everything. The little shimmer of jealousy was there. She had a sad smile. She could understand why it was there, but it had no need to be.

"I love you, Raoul. With all my heart. But I can't forget _him _just like that. Sometimes, I think I would have died without _him_ to help me after my father's death. And I want _him_ to be happy. Not with me, of course," she giggled. "But _he_ disserves to be saved. I know it's hard for you to realize that. I can understand why. You have a lot to forgive _him_, and somehow, so does _he_."

A minute passed in total silence, before Christine continued.

"Do… do you remember the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_?"

Raoul jumped at such a mention. His wife had never talked about it since that terrible night. He had respected her silence, knowing how much it had been hard for her, hard on her nerves which were already not very strong...

It had been hard on him too. Not just because he had been very near death, and that he saw Christine ready to throw out her life, so she would stay forever in the undergrounds, to be the Phantom's eternal bride… all this so his life could be spared. He remembered the opera itself. Goodness, the music was the work of a genius and an absolute cacophony all at the same time. Then came the moment of the duet Don Juan sang with Aminta… It took him a while to realize that the madman and not Ubaldo Piangi was singing there. But when he did, and when he saw all the passion the Phantom and Christine were displaying on stage, jealousy had tightened his heart.

But then came the moment where she had ripped his mask off. He had gasped, with everybody else. But less because of the horrid face he had seen than Christine's gesture.

Now, he needed to know everything. It was starting to kill him from the inside. And he hated that sensation.

"When I turned around when _he_ entered, I immediately knew it was _him_." continued Christine. "No one else seemed to realize that. I knew _he_ had come for me, so I could stay with _him _forever… But I didn't want that. I wanted to be everywhere except on the stage. I knew I would have to save myself, by myself, without anyone to help me. I played the game. I pretended I was going to give up to his will… And when I came close enough, I ripped _his_ mask off, so everyone would see that _he_ was there."

Christine hid her head in her hands, than showed it again, a sad smile on her face.

"I remember Meg had told me once I was still a child. She was right. I couldn't do anything for myself… and somehow, I still do."

The vicomtesse's gaze got lost in the contemplation of her bedroom, as she continued:

"Oh, Raoul, it was horrible, when I ripped _his_ only protection and just exposed _him_ in front of everyone. But I had no choice… I felt like Papa had died a second time… And this time, I had killed him."

A tear fell on Christine's cheek. A soft and warm hand wiped it off. She looked up, to see that Raoul was smiling at her tenderly. And she knew immediately that he understood her.

"For a long time, I thought _he_ was my father. _He_ looks a bit like him, too. And I think that I loved and I still love _him_ in the same way. It's strange… he frightens me, more than you can even imagine it, but at the same time…"

"Forgive me, Christine."

The young woman looked at Raoul, surprised.

"For what?"

"I doubted. It was… more than wrong, it was…"

As only answer, Christine kissed him. And for a long moment, they stayed embraced, just enjoying the proximity of each other. The future mother could feel her husband getting less and less tensed in his arms. Yes, Raoul felt light, lighter than he had ever felt before. He still felt guilty of leaving Christine in such pain, and though still, he had resentment towards the Phantom, it wasn't as biting as before. But his wife had forgiven him everything, and loved him.

It was when the little being in the Vicomtesse's body started to move, making his presence know not only to the future mother, but also the future father, that they separated themselves, giggling.

"She needs space," joked Raoul.

"What do you mean, s_he_?"

"Because it will be a girl, of course."

"Oh, Raoul," pouted Christine, laughing at the same time.

They hugged again, until, the little euphoria gone, they came back to reality.

"So what shall we do now?" asked Christine, unwillingly landing back on Earth.

The question slapped Raoul harshly. He interiorly grunted at his own lack of power in front of this situation, for he had absolutely no idea what to do. And he hated to admit that to Christine.

"Well… I don't know." And without realizing it, a sort of sad puppy face appeared on Raoul's still boyish features. Christine, forgetting for a short moment the situation's drama, giggled.

"Well, anyway, I'm sure they're fine. At least, Céleste surely is fine." Christine smiled, remembering the previous night.

"Christine, don't go and make jokes about this," Raoul frowned.

"Well, you certainly didn't see them last night." she answered, a smile with a shadow of mischief on her face.

Christine had seen enough to know that if there was one person who had the potential to be the equal of the Phantom of the Opera, it was, as strange as it seemed, Céleste de Chagny herself.

* * *

><p>Meg Giry had arranged as much as she could the windows broken fastener. She had always hated the cold, and the winter weather outside wasn't at all appealing.<p>

Just before, she had proposed to the Daroga a bit of tea, which he accepted. When it was ready, she had fixed the window, remarking at the same time that the fastener was pretty much worn off anyway, and that it needed to be changed anyway… It would be easier to tell that to the superintendant.

When finally, she was done, she turned towards Nadir.

"Well… I guess you could sleep in my room. I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all. I'm not very picky… compared to some people."

Meg smiled. She knew immediately of who the Daroga was talking about.

"You seem to love each other very much," she stated, with a cheeky grin.

The Persian sighed. And, to the dancer's surprise, he answered:

"I often wonder why we are friends… for as much we can be so. But you know, sometimes, I must say life would be boring without those little arguments."

Meg's smile only widened. She couldn't help thinking of Erik and of Céleste whom, from the little scene she had seen between them in the lair, earlier that day, she could guess that it wasn't the first time they were confronting each other that way… It was strange to say, but they were just so… so beautifully funny.

A knock on the door suddenly interrupted them. Meg jumped, retained herself from letting go a little cry (goodness, she was so easy on that), and made gesture to the Daroga to go to her room, hoping he would find some hiding place there.

Slowly, she rushed towards the kitchen, took a pan just in case she would need to defend herself. She paced very quietly towards the door, and, on the tip of her toes, looked into the bull's-eye. And what she saw made her sigh of relief. She opened the door, with a wide smile… But it faded immediately when she remembered she wasn't alone.

_I'm so stupid. _

"Alexandre! How did you know I was… here?"

Alexandre Goutelin was M. Reyer's nephew and apprentice. When the elder man would come to his retirement, after almost thirty years at the Opera Populaire, the young man had been designated to take his place as conductor. He wasn't really much of a handsome man, especially with his nose known to be "good for Cleopatra", as some uncharitable ballerinas would qualify it. He was, in appearance, a rather dreamy, distracted boy, and clumsier than anyone could ever imagine. But those who had tried to meddle with Alexandre knew well enough that there was probably not a tongue sharper than his in all Paris – "besides, maybe, the one of the Opera Ghost himself," would say a few with some sort of reverential terror.

Meg and he had at first befriended quickly. They had a similar character, and they could talk for hours of culture, books, art… Alexandre, slowly, had become the ballerina's lecturer in those matters. Meg had very little instruction, her mother having only taught her to read and write, but she was deeply intelligent and an avid learner. With time, their friendship had turned into more, and for now, the dancer preferred their relationship to stay secret… She was sort of afraid of her mother's reaction.

They had both agreed, to chase away any suspicious behavior or gestures from Mme Giry's eagle eyes, to meet in the apartment her mother had rented for the time the Opera house was rebuilt after the fire. They were doing absolutely nothing inappropriate, of course. Really, they weren't. Meg didn't feel ready, anyway.

To Meg's question, Alexandre shrugged, with the most adorable shadow of a smile imaginable. The ballerina felt her heart melt… and she retained herself for not letting out a cry of exasperation. Goodness, she just couldn't tell him to go…

"Well, you were nowhere to be found at the Opera house, and your mother was there, so… I assumed you were here alone."

"Yes… well, I can't really talk to you now… you see, I'm… I'm cleaning up."

"Oh. Well, I saw your mother discussing with the patron and the Chagnys. I wonder what they were doing at the Opera Populaire…" A slight hint of suspicion appeared in Alexandre's voice… And Meg could hear it a bit too well.

"Ah. That's strange…" she simply answered.

"Do you think they came there because of the Opera Ghost?" Alexandre asked.

"Maybe," Meg shrugged, as innocently as she could. Oh dear, she just hoped she wouldn't be obliged to lie to Alexandre… She was sure that he would be able to keep their secret, but if her mother, or Erik, or the Daroga came to know that she had told him about everything… Her head's price wouldn't be very high… Especially that one of her potential executioners was _actually hiding in her room_.

"Well… sorry if you can't come in right now, but…see you later!" _Goodness, I can't be more awkward than that. _

"Meg… Why are you holding a pan?"

The ballerina suddenly remembered her improvised club and blushed. She could feel that she was blushing, from the heat she could feel on her face. She was a terrible liar. It was only when adrenaline overcame her that she actually succeeded in that. And somehow, though the situation seemed extremely dramatic to her, the adrenaline didn't come, this time. _Why? _

"Meg. Are you hiding someone? The Opera Ghost, maybe?"

Meg tried to giggle, like if Alexandre had just told her a joke. But she was totally unable of doing so, especially when she heard how serious the young man was. Instead, a girl with a sarcastic and incredulous smile faced him.

"Really, Alexandre, how can you come to such a far-fetched conclusion?"

It was true, after all. It was far-fetched.

"Well, first of all, your mother is the intermediary between the Opera Ghost and the managers. Second of all, just before your mother went to Messieurs de Chagny and Monsieur Soliman, I saw her whisper something to you and you rushed away. Probably to help _him _escape, hey? And the only possible place where you could hide _him _is in your apartment. And third, I can see very well when you're hiding something from me."

Goodness. What was she going to do now?

"Well, young man, it has always been considered as a quality to be deductive. But now, maybe you'll think twice before declaring such a thing. Hands on your head."

Quickly, Meg turned towards the voice which had just spoken. It was the Daroga, handling a small gun headed straight towards Alexandre.

"NO! No, please, Daroga, he won't tell anyone, I promise, I swear!" shouted the ballerina.

"He knows too much. And since I've been the general commandant of the government police of Persia, I think I know a bit more than you do on the subject, when it comes to deal with such things. Approach, sir. You'll be staying here the time I'll be obliged to hide here."

Without showing any resistance, Alexandre, his hands behind his head, entered the apartment, trying to catch Meg's glance, which was facing the floor, but was stopped by Nadir Khan's cold and sharp voice: "No lingering!"

In a desperate attempt to try to save Alexandre, though she was more and more convinced it was (sort of) the best thing to do, the ballerina approached the Daroga, muttering:

"Please, Daroga, if he stays here… Maman will be furious…"

"Well, if you ask me, young lady, she'll have a good reason to react that way. Really, this generation is… is…"

With a shook of his head, showing all the despair he felt for the rising generation, thinking more precisely of Meg, Alexandre, Céleste and even Erik, who really didn't seem thirty-five sometimes, the Daroga, still pointing his gun towards his prisoner, leaded him into Meg's room, to keep an eye on him.

* * *

><p>Puffs of smoke, from time to time, came out from Soliman's strangely shaped and carved pipe. For now, he needed to relax, not to let himself dominate by the instincts that, often, would make him brutalize a servant who dared to be a bit too much in his way... And only opium made him calmer.<p>

It was evident that the Chagny girl had fled with the Angel of Death. And probably at that convent of hers.

Soliman knew well enough Christianity and its traditions to know that probably, Céleste had probably hid the Phantom within the nuns' grille. He knew how convents could be labyrinths… he couldn't just start looking for him like that.

He needed a plan.

It would come. He had total confidence in himself. Céleste de Chagny would be his.

She was a beautiful creature indeed. So different from the Persian beauties of his natal country, dark, precocious, veiled, who learned from their birth that the only action they were permitted to execute was to obey. They were beautiful, perfect playthings. But life, with them, was dreadfully boring. They had already been worn out because of the education they had received, where its purpose was to extinguish any flame with which they could try to burn men's will, in order to gain some sort of desperate freedom. Céleste was pale, blonde, icy, and she was a lioness, though she did everything to look like the innocent dove, and he had to admit she did quite well. She was a lioness, who only needed to be tamed.

She _had _to be tamed, for as he thought more about it, Soliman wouldn't be able to live with such a wild creature.

She reminded him too much of the Angel of Death, from time to time.

Soliman could feel they had the same soul, which only difference was that they had followed different variations, for the reason that they had two very different lives. But they had the same passion, the same power, the same sort of attraction to darkness, though they were at the same time struggling for light.

He remembered how he had overheard two workers complaining about their masked architect (though not too loudly, of course), saying that he should have been Emperor. The pair, very soon, finished up in the torture room… but Soliman had never forgotten what they had said about the Angel of Death. Though he tried very hard to sneer at such a thought, he was totally unable of denying the veracity of their sentence.

Yes, Erik should have been Emperor.

And Céleste de Chagny, with her pride, her courage, her will, seemed born to be Empress.

That was a thing Soliman could offer it to her. His older brother was Shah, just for now, and so stupid his death wouldn't be very surprising. It would be so easy to kill all his children, still young and living in the harem with the many concubines.

But at first, he would have to break all links she had with the Angel of Death. Even if he had to dig as deep as her own soul to do so.

Slowly, he drifted away in the land of dreams, where his thoughts only concretized in his mind, and where the scenario he had been planning for weeks finished in the most glorious way, and he, always, was the victor. He was descendant of Mahomet, anyway.

How could he possibly lose?

When finally, he woke up the next morning, his mind, though it was still in a certain numbness because of his opium consummation, made his future actions quite clear. He knew exactly what to do next.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Totally useless comment, but if you want to know how Alexandre looks like, it's Arthur Darvill. ;)**

**Answers to reviews:**

**Savannah White: **Thanks! ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thank you! ;D

**PhantomFan01: **Oh yes, swoon… that's the word. And thanks! ;)

**Aria: **Don't worry about monologues, I love them… ;)

Glad you like the Mother Superior ;) As I said in the last chapter, she has worked in a leper hospital. So she got to know a lot of people who were kind in the same situation as Erik, sometimes even worse… She wants to help him. But she knows she mustn't do too much, or he'll lose confidence in her. And I think she's really a role model for Céleste.

Erik's concert… I've been waiting to write and publish that moment for weeks. XD And yes, the more the story goes, the more Erik seems to understand what it is to be human. ;)

I know Phantastic Mr Phantom, it's even in my favorites! Gosh, whenever I feel sad I just go and read a chapter of it. I'm even in it… ;) But it really made me realize that musical-Mme Giry does look like Nanny McPhee… and despite almost every fan who doesn't agree with me, I just love movie-Mme Giry even more. But anyway… if Christine was smarter, the story would have been totally different… but I think the ending would have been the same (R/C shipper hello).

Erik's dream is going to give you nightmares? Gosh, I didn't know it was that intense. XD

Thank you again for your big support, I'm really appreciating it. *virtual hug*

How to destroy a plot bunny? Uh… go on Tumblr? (Yup, useful advice of the day.)

**inujisan:** Glad you liked the monologue, though I totally ripped that from the Bible itself (book of Isaïah). XD It's just I heard that at church recently (yes, I'm a good girl who goes to church) and immediately, I thought of Erik as I read it… because until a certain point, it can apply to Erik, though he wasn't AT ALL a lamb like Our Lord, so to say. XD

Christianity being a tag-label? I totally know what you mean. When I was about thirteen or fourteen years old (worst years at school for all dorks, nerds and geeks, seriously), I was considered a freak SIMPLY because I'm Christian. Gosh.

**TheCrimsonPen:** I never saw POTO onstage either… But I want to, really. It's true that Gerard Butler receives too much hate. I mean, okay, he's not the best singer in the world, but he was still good! But I'll talk about that later…

**Igenlode Wordsmith:** Writing about Raoul being a cat-burglar… I think it would kind of go like this:

Christine: Raoul?  
>Raoul: Yes?<br>Christine: What are you doing?  
>Raoul: Trying to enter by infraction in that house. Why?<br>Christine: You… you can just… do that like… that?  
>Raoul: Yeah. You're surprised? You thought I couldn't do that?<br>Christine: Uh… No, no no no, not at all…  
>Erik: You hesitated.<br>Christine: No.  
>Erik: You did soooo…<br>Christine: I DID NOT!

Christine is OOC… But still. XD

In my story, the late comte de Chagny died when Céleste was about fifteen, and his wife a year later. I modified that from the book. ;)

That quote… it was beautiful. It reminds me of Céleste in general, but also of Erik, and… well, Erik and Céleste's relationship itself. *sighs* And I know what you mean about thunderstorms… Gosh, I love them.

I'm glad it doesn't seem like anyone is getting mixed up about the POVS… I'm always a bit worried about that.

About Raoul being more annoyed about Christine being brutalized and everything… I admit I didn't think of that… But it's true that it's more logical and Raoul-like. Good point. ;) And unfortunately, it won't be the last time you'll hear about La Parilla…

The real wandering souls… I think the Opera Populaire, beside the Phantom himself, hides so many unknown stories… Just look at the passageways. I imagine them being installed during the French Revolution, and the Terreur period (the time described in The Scarlet Pimpernel, actually)… Paris was the-place-to-be at that moment (or not so much…). And if you go at the Opera Garnier (the "real" Opera Populaire), its baroque architecture and the darker corners here and there really do give you the impression that it's haunted… It gives me an idea for a future phanfic, just to think of that… And Raoul's insecurity being foreshadowing? Maybe… Mwahahaha.

I don't think Philippe would let a rude message. He's too well brought for that. He would probably just let his card… XD

And yes, Raoul prefers finding no one than finding Erik with Céleste… But now, the question is: where are they?

The corpse isn't there because of Erik. As he stated, he's not the only murderer out there. And about Erik's enigmatic phrase… I'll let the story give you the answer.

Oh dear – just imagining what Madame Giry and Meg are going to do with Nadir just gives me loads of ideas. The craziest one yet is Céleste and Erik entering to see him scrubbing the floor with a pink apron on… XD

Céleste is a gutsy girl… But she has her limits, and she's not a cataphile at all. XD

Raoul is great, and seriously, he doesn't at all disserve all the hate he receives. But I don't think ALW really HATES him. Actually, if you look at the musical (and it's even more evident in the movie), I've always wondered if ALW intended at first Meg to end up with Erik. I mean, at the end, she finds his mask, and in the movie, she's dressed exactly like Don Juan without the jacket. The movie is extremely symbolic, so I'm 100% sure it isn't a hazard. But… back to the subject… The reason why ALW turned Raoul in a jerk in LND and made the story E/C was truly to make money, to me. I mean, everyone loves E/C pairings, everyone hates Raoul… But he totally missed his shot because seriously, the plot is absolutely ridiculous, the characters are shockingly OOC... I did an epic rant about Raoul vs Erik on my LJ, it's even my first post (yeah, I know), if you're interested, I can give you the link to it. ;) Well, yes, the Leroux book, the Lon Chaney movie, the original musical were pretty clear on the fact that Christine loved Raoul and not Erik… The 2004 movie, when you watch it very closely (and I say, very closely), actually has no ambiguity about Christine's feelings. And the 25th anniversary… I'm sorry, but it's a total LND promotion, to me. She really does love Raoul and not Erik… Raoul being a bad guy is one of my biggest phanfic peeves. It just makes the job way too easy for Erik, and it just shows that somehow, you're conscious that Raoul and Christine truly love each other and that it will take something big to separate them.

I think Clémence is able to imagine that Erik could be Céleste's husband. As you said, she used to call her Mademoiselle (that happened with me when my teacher got married, and I was sixteen back then), and since the nuns probably told them that Céleste has left to get married, and… you know how little girls are. They probably gossiped about it. I have a pretty good experience as a big sister… XD

I think the curtain was some sort of wardrobe indeed. (I'm basing myself a parlor I know well, so… ;) )

Mother Marie-Anne is one of those women who are natural great ladies. A bit like Mme Giry. She tells you to do that, you just have to do it. Think of Rhett Butler in front of Melanie Wilkes. ;)

Yes, I think Erik will have a lot of hard and/or awkward moments. Why not make him go on adorkable mode? XD

I like how you psychoanalyzed Erik's dream. ;) Yes, if Christine would have stayed with him, he would have destroyed her. She's too innocent for him, too much of a child of light. All that darkness would have killed her soul, and made them both miserable.

And remember Erik is an architect. He analyzed pretty quickly the chapel was soundproof… so otherwise, I don't think he would have gone to play the organ. But goodness, how can you say no to a Casavante? ;) And thanks for the video, I'm watching that as soon as I can!

Erik knows of the Great Silence because Mother Marie-Anne mentioned it before, in the chapter ;) About Erik earning his living by playing the organ… Matins aren't accompanied by organ since it's the "awakening". But the others are. He could also play for Mass… as long he doesn't get too much carried away… XD

I think Mother Marie-Anne will try to get Erik to accept more himself as he is. I mean, he can walk, he is incredibly talented… And I think Céleste can be a big help also. ;)

"rushed as slowly as she could" Figure de style. ;)

**My turn to answer the question… So I know some of you are going to hate** **me for what I'm going to say, so here are virtual cookies…**

**Ok.**

**So I must say that for me, it's a tie between Ramin Karimloo and Gerard Butler. Why?**

**Well, first of all, like most phans of my generation, Gerrik was my first Phantom. Ok, I do admit he isn't the best singer in the world, so to say, but the thing is, he's a baritone (and a rather good one, for someone who was never trained musically) singing a part usually sung by a tenor. He had mostly trouble breathing in the higher notes, which is normal. But seriously, though there are a few notes that made me frown here and there, I think he actually did great! And… I think Erik should be a baritone and Raoul a tenor. It fits the characters better. (*Escapes shovels coming from Phans*) I loved the way he played the Phantom (except when he was on mode emo-pretty-boy in **_**No One Would Listen**_**, but thank God they deleted that scene). How… insanely desperate he was in the Final Lair… The way you could feel all the hunger he had for Christine… The death glares he has… And at the moment where he punjabs Buquet (tee-hee), he really looked like a sociopath killer.**

**For what is of Ramin, I ADORE his singing voice, but how I came to adore is rather a funny story. When I heard him sing for the first time, it was in the 25th anniversary movie. His singing voice was really good, though there was too much tremolos for my taste, and I wasn't impressed to the point of being an absolute fan of it. Then, I saw Love Never Dies Aussie version, and since that day I hate LND with a burning passion (there are a few good elements in it but basically… yeah.). But then I was told to listen again to **_**Till I Hear You Sing**_** and **_**The Beauty Underneath**_**, but the version with Ramin singing. And since then… I fell in love with his voice. I loved the way he played the Phantom, but… What I'm going to say is very very personal, but I preferred Gerard Butler's acting.**

**For what is of the other Phantoms… well, the only other ones I heard and saw were Ben Lewis and Michael Crawford, and let's count Lon Chaney in it… Ben Lewis is a good singer, but to be very very honest, the worst actor I've ever seen (he beats Kristen Stewart on that point, seriously, while she doesn't even make an effort to have expression, he tries like too hard to have some and it becomes both effective and hilarious), Michael Crawford was very theatrical, very emotional in the few videos I saw of him, but I still have to get use to his very special tenor (he kind of sings nasally, to me, and I know that some of you are going to hate me for this (to talk delicately), but I prefer Gerard Butler's singing voice), and Lon Chaney… Well, he was okay. That's all I have to say. Anyway, to be honest, though it's the version which is the closest to the novel, I didn't really like the 1925 film. Besides that, I haven't seen the Robert Englund version yet, nor the Tywin Lannister… uh, sorry, Charles Dance version, and it's certainly not tomorrow that I'm watching the Dario Argento one. Gosh, THE PHANTOM HAD NO DISFIGUREMENT IN IT. WHAT'S THE POINT?!**

**So conclusion: Get a Phantom with Gerard Butler's acting and Ramin Karimloo's singing and you'll get perfection.**

**And question of the day: besides Elsa (tee-hee), is there a character (in a book or a movie) that reminds you of Céleste?**


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Erik took his breakfast alone in his cell. Almost as soon as he had finished, Céleste came back, Clémence on her heels, and proposed, with a gentle smile, so gentle he was almost surprised of it, to join them. But he had refused. He had simply too much on his mind at that moment, for the Mother Superior's words were haunting him.

He wasn't the only suffering soul in the world.

Erik had seen enough, throughout his life, to know how much this fact was true. He had even been, once in Persia, in a time which seemed so far away now, a cause of suffering.

Pictures of his past, that he was desperately always trying to forget, came back to him.

To resume his entire life in one word, chaos would be probably the best noun to describe it.

He had always struggled for happiness, always struggled to be human, always struggled to fight the monster within him. But he had just made things worse, not only for him, but also for others.

He was selfish. In this moment of extreme lucidity, he could see it within him, like it had struck him on the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_. But it wasn't as intense as now. It was strange, since the situation was a lot more dramatic back then. All his life, he was so busy trying to survive that he never realized the consequences of his acts. Even in the last several weeks, he had only acted for himself, for his own satisfactions, with a desperate need to control everything… not only his life, which was already quite hard to manage, but also other people's lives.

His life experience was indeed a good excuse for his selfishness. Anyway, Erik had learned at a very young age that he could trust nobody. Even Nadir and Antoinette, who were both the closest thing he had to friends, could be ripped off from him, or, for a moral reason, would refuse to help him. But little did he realize, until this moment, that the suffering he provoked around him could, eventually, come back to him.

When noon came, and that the Mother Superior arrived, knocking gently on his door, and, hearing no answer, asked him if he wished to have dinner, Erik refused. She did not insist, guessing that he needed to be alone. It was true. But there was more than that. Now, Erik was mad at the nun, for her torturing him this way by what she had made her realize earlier. He even felt his murderous instincts rising in him, and, to stop the harsh voice of his long-forgotten conscience, he was even ready to kill Mother Marie-Anne with his own hands. Then, a few minutes after, he would curse himself.

He would never change, no matter what.

Distractively, Erik headed towards the window of his cell, trying to think of something else; though he knew already it would be useless.

But suddenly, two silhouettes caught his eye. A tall, thin one, and a small, rather chubby one, and they were both holding each other's hand. The small silhouette would skip all around the place, dragging the taller person around, while the latter walked gracefully, with certain distinction, and some sort of happy resignation. It didn't take much time for Erik to recognize Céleste and Clémence.

A smile, rusty because of the lack of habit, appeared on his lips, though it was totally unwanted, so to say. He suddenly surprised himself admiring Céleste, making her way in the snow, in an almost feline way. He could see her blond hair waving a bit in the winter breeze, and, if he looked really closely, her cheeks had a very light shade of pink, giving a mother-of-pearl-like complexion to her pale skin. He even found himself trying to guess the shape of her neckline under the fabric protecting it from the winter's cold…

_What are you doing, Erik? _

He suddenly wanted to slap himself.

Why was he even caring about her?

He thought of the kiss he had given her on the forehead, a few nights before. That had been just incredibly foolish of him. He should have known better. But surprisingly, Céleste, though she had seemed rather amused, hadn't seemed disgusted or furious about it. A well-brought lady like her would have every reason to do so. No. She actually appeared to have liked it.

Did she?

_Erik, you are an idiot. How could she love you? The fop's sister? The sister of the man who just took everything from you? _

Did Raoul really take away everything?

It had been almost a year since Christine had left him. Though he still felt bitterness towards her, and that he wasn't too sure if the vicomte would come back unhurt if he ever found himself in his way, he wasn't quite certain anymore if he really wanted Christine to be with him.

She would never love him.

That was the plain, ugly truth.

And somehow, Erik, though he wished things would have happened in another way, was relieved that Christine was gone. The fascination she had for him once, or perhaps, rather, for the Angel of Music, had been worn off by too much horror. He wouldn't have endured to see her fawn-like eyes full of pity, then later fear and even, perhaps, disgust.

_And what about Céleste? _

She didn't seem afraid of him, for sure. Or at least, she didn't show it. Either way, she was brave. She even felt well at ease to tease him, from time to time. Normally, Erik would have been more than annoyed of such an attitude… But with Céleste, he couldn't help feeling amused. It was even funny, sometimes. He had to admit it. She was quite good at retorting, and Erik, who was a master at snapping short sentences so his adversary would finally shut his mouth for good, sometimes had to find treasures of intelligence to reply wittingly to her. And it wasn't to displease him.

Well, she almost treated him like a normal person.

Goodness, if she knew what he had planned for her.

His plan was indeed insanely complicated. He was even wondering now if he had all his head at that moment. He was blinded by the ashes of revenge, only wanting Raoul and Christine to twist themselves in the fires of despair in the most poetical way possible, and manipulating Céleste as an unwilling puppet. A puppet he had at first somehow satisfied by giving her what she wanted – which was, here, a good training in violin, then after, help her climb towards the rank of prima donna. With time, as he had started to train her voice, he saw that he would have to be strict for the choices of operas. Céleste, unfortunately, didn't have a soprano voice, but a mezzo-soprano one, with a rather large range, but still a mezzo-soprano. And, being twenty-four, her voice had fully matured.

But there was more than that. He admired her talent. Of course, her voice would never be as angelic as Christine's. Erik was quite certain no one would ever be her equal. But still, Céleste had a certain maturity his former muse never had and that he was frantically trying to find in her. Christine was a child of light, who seemingly knew nothing of darkness and evil, and desperately ran away from anything approaching it. Céleste had the potential of becoming a great mezzo, and her violin playing… it was divine. She wasn't just playing. She was one with her instrument. And to Erik, she seemed like the only person worthy of playing on the Stradivarius. Besides himself, of course.

And, with time, he had realized that she somehow wasn't as much of a Chagny as she pretended to.

He couldn't do it. He had felt totally incapable of proving to the world that he had dishonored her. It was ridiculous. But it was still there. He felt incapable of dishonoring her, to provoke the Vicomte in a duel for the cause. Not that he minded about Raoul's life. Hell no. But he was going to fight against Céleste. And against the music trapped in her soul for too long.

Then, thanks to God (sarcasm, sarcasm), Soliman had come in.

And now, they were both caught in this together.

It was thank to her that he had started to compose again. He knew it. He found himself writing arias. Arias for mezzos. And soon, so many ideas had invaded him, for future operas… Operas with mezzos starring, and not sopranos. Of course, that was quite against conventions… But Erik couldn't care less about them. The world knew that well enough after hearing _Don Juan Triumphant_.

Yes, he had to at least admit he was attached to Céleste.

_Do I love her? _

_God damn it, of course I do. _

He loved her. Great. Just great. And she somehow seemed to trust him.

Why?

Did she only know what he had planned for her, a few weeks earlier?

A knock on the door got him out of his thoughts. Somehow relieved of this distraction, since the tension was starting to fade away thanks to it, he mumbled: "Come in!" to see Céleste entering, leaving the door open for proprieties, her cheeks still a bit rosy.

_God, she's beautiful. _

_STOP THINKING ABOUT IT! _

"Are you going to stay here all day?" she asked.

"Why not?" Erik snorted, annoyed by her question and his earlier thoughts racing back in his head.

"I don't know, I just thought you would like to look around. I believe you have a rather curious nature… And you know, there's an enclosed garden, if you feel like going there." Céleste answered, ignoring Erik's rather cantankerous glares.

"Aren't you afraid of being with me?" he asked quite unexpectedly, but quite frankly for what was of his point of view.

Céleste, for a moment, stared at him. "No," she answered, seemingly not understanding what he meant. Erik retained himself from hitting his head on the wall. Was she stupid? Or was she truly not afraid?

He got up, as casually as he could, heading towards the door… then, suddenly, slammed it, so quickly Céleste didn't even have time to react to it. It was only when she heard the bang that she gasped, and looked at Erik, puzzled and somehow worried.

"What is going on?" she inquired with a rather firm voice.

"What do you mean, what is going on?" Erik replied, getting angrier and angrier as he spoke. "How come you're not yelling for help? Don't you get this? Didn't you think one second that I can just rape you, or kill you, or – anything!"

Céleste bit her lips, and looked towards the ground. Then her eyes lifted up, watching intently into Erik's, who almost trembled by their calmness, reminding him of the sea because of their blueness. No, Céleste's eyes weren't disturbed by Erik's, who were flashing green and gold in a terrifying way, almost hypnotic. "No, I didn't. It's strange to say, but I don't think you would do that to me."

"Oh really? Don't you only know what I wanted to do to you?"

Céleste lifted up a brow. "Erik, stop being such a drama-queen. It isn't working – not at all. Well, not with me, at least."

"You think I gave you violin lessons for free?" he started, anger and some sort of strange bitter mockery in his voice.

"No, Erik," Céleste replied, getting apprehensive by how everything was seemingly turning out, but determined to stay calm in front of Erik's storm. "I know what business you have with my family. And I know what you wanted to do with me. You could have done things so much simpler, but no – you wanted all of us to suffer." By "us", Céleste meant not only herself, but also Christine and Raoul.

"Who told you that?"

"You don't need to know."

"I know Nadir did."

"So why do you ask?"

"What else did he tell you?" Erik almost growled. This time, Céleste couldn't help shivering. The more this heated discussion was making progress, the more he was becoming sort of feral, man and beast struggling for "right of way".

"He… he told me about your past." Without paying attention to Erik's reaction, Mlle de Chagny continued: "I think that's what prevented me from doing anything against you."

"Because you pitied me, maybe?" Erik snorted, somehow painfully. And, without being able to give herself any explanation, Céleste tightened. With a soft smile, she replied:

"No. You are not to be pitied. You're…" she hesitated, experiencing some sort of awkward modesty to affirm such a thing. "You cannot be pitied," she finally declared, not daring to say her true thought, which was here that Erik was, well, too "great" to be pitied. "Just…" Céleste sighed loudly, exasperated by the fact she simply couldn't find her words. "Why can't you just settle!? You… you don't have to act like this!" She paled, as she got angrier. "Why… why are you letting your face just controlling your life?"

"Have you only seen it, woman?" Erik shouted, not caring much if anyone heard him. For a moment, Céleste thought that he was going to unmask himself. Not wanting any more damage today, and fearing her reaction, she added immediately:

"No, I haven't. And if you don't want me to see it, you don't have to show it to me. But it's just that… I think you're able to go beyond what other people think of you. I've heard of _Don Juan Triumphant_, you know… and to be perfectly honest, to compose such music when you know that such a thing wasn't composed before, and how… how blocked people are, and how… how scandalous of a subject you chose… You didn't care about what people would think of your opera, didn't you? You're able to live without the world's pressure, Erik." A heavy silence installed himself, until Céleste, almost on the borderline to cry, declared, in a strangled voice:

"And you know what? I actually admire you for that!"

Céleste gasped, surprised of her own declaration, of her audacity and her frankness. She lifted down her eyes, not daring to look upon Erik, almost ashamed of herself. Well, to be honest, the shame was big enough for her to get up, and to mutter, in an extinguished voice:

"I… I'll just go."

Immediately, she headed towards the door, not even looking at Erik, and slammed it behind her. As she walked through the corridor, she saw Clémence come out of a corner where she was hidden.

"Clémence!" Céleste gasped, afraid that the little girl had overheard the rather heated fight between Erik and herself. "What are you doing here? Did… did you hear anything?" she asked impulsively, retaining herself from making a face-palm for her lack of tact.

"Yes, but just a little bit," the little girl nodded, her eyes wide (_And for a good reason, _thought Céleste). As if it was going to make them both forget everything, the young lady took Clémence by the hand and quickly, headed towards the stairs, as if it was going to put a stop to any embarrassing question. But unfortunately, it didn't.

"Mademoiselle… Why does your friend wear a mask?"

"It's a long story… very sad." Céleste heard herself reply.

"He looks sad too," said Clémence.

By the tone of the little girl's voice, an alarm bell immediately rang in Mlle de Chagny's head.

"Clémence, whatever you do, if you meet him, don't ask him anything about his mask."

"Of course not," the little girl nodded negatively, shaking her auburn curls at the same time. "But why does he want to be all alone, now?"

"Because…" Céleste couldn't find an explanation that would satisfy Clémence. She was retaining herself from just telling her to stop asking such inappropriate questions, especially for a little girl of her age. That was the answer she was often replied with when she was young herself… She could still feel the sting of it. And that held her from answering this. She simply took off her hand from Clémence's grasp, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes, nodding softly her head.

"Oh, Clémence, it's just so complicated… and I even have trouble understanding all this myself."

Opening her eyes again, she looked down at the little girl, hoping she would accept her explanation once and for all… to see that she was gone. Nervously, she looked around her, to see that Clémence was heading back towards the corridor where the cells were, and more precisely, towards Erik's cell.

"Clémence! Clémence!" shouted Céleste. But it was no use. Already, the little red-haired rascal was knocking on Erik's door, whispering, in a childish and bell-like voice:

"Monsieur! Monsieur!"

No answer came from the cell. Céleste ran to Clémence, strangely happy to see that Erik wasn't giving any answer, though she was starting to get worried. But the little girl, seeing that time was growing short for her, muttered those last words:

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

* * *

><p>Céleste, almost ready to mutter a prayer so the floor could just swallow Clémence's and her body, grabbed the guilty by the shoulder.<p>

"What were you thinking?" she whispered.

Clémence shrugged, like if the situation didn't impress her at all.

"Soeur Louise told us we must help those who are sad. Like the Good Samaritan."

Céleste closed her eyes, to hide an expression decency forbids us to describe. But soon, the sound of Erik's door made her rise up, facing him. Surprisingly, he didn't seem angry at all, but rather… Well, his face was unreadable.

"We're sorry we disturbed you, aren't we, Clémence?" she immediately said, looking dourly at the little girl.

"No, not at all," he replied in a calm voice. Immediately, he seized his cloak, putting it on his shoulders, while Céleste's eyes widened and that Clémence smiled of childish victory. "Tell me, mademoiselle," Erik asked the little girl, in a very serious tone, do you know a place where I could go outside without being seen?"

"Yes, of course!" Clémence replied eagerly. "The inner courtyard!"

"You… you don't have to, really," Céleste blubbered, amazed by Erik's quick change of mood. Presaging that he was up to no good, she tried to tick him off. "Really… you're not seriously going to build a snowman."

Erik leaned towards her, lifting up a brow and crossing his arms. "I'm surprised to hear you say that. After all, you're the one who said _my _opera was scandalous. I bet what your dear brother told you about it just made you realize babies don't come from storks."

"Not in front of her," whispered Céleste, blushing of embarrassment and of annoyance because of Erik's remark and pointing Clémence with her chin. But the little girl cheekily replied:

"Storks don't bring babies, I know that. It's the doctor that brings them in his satchel."

As soon as Clémence was done talking, Céleste turned immediately towards Erik, signaling by one look this very clear message: _No comments. _

But it didn't stop a little crooked smile, the one she hated and liked so much, to appear.

Céleste was rather surprised of the sort of "docility" Erik showed towards Clémence. At first, without further ado, the little red-head had rolled a snowball which arrived at the level of her waist, declaring that this was going to be the snowman's base. Erik had lifted a brow, and had stood just beside it. Céleste had retained a smile, observing that he seemed even taller than ever, and the future snowman's body appeared quite ridiculous.

Immediately, Erik rolled the snowball with his feet around the inner courtyard, until it was so big Clémence could hardly see above it. The little girl had clapped her hands of joy, and soon prepared the snowman's chest, than his head, which Erik, almost solemnly, placed.

When Clémence rushed to the kitchen to ask a nun for a carrot to use as a nose, Céleste, who had seated on a bench while Erik and the little orphan were busy with the snowman, felt embarrassment now that she was all alone with him. For a moment, the naïve joy Clémence showed at the pleasure to have a new playmate (_and what a playmate_, thought Céleste), and to see Erik just… well, lowering himself to the little girl did make her move a little bit. It was rather surprising, to see how well he got along with her.

But now, the little pixie was gone, and with her her fairy dust which seemed to spread joy even in the darkest hearts. Céleste could only but think of their arguing, and of what she had said. Once again, she had said to Erik things she would have never dared to say, for the simple and good reason that she sincerely thought it was silly of her to feel that way.

Yes, Céleste had dreamt of a life full of adventures, when she was a mischievous little girl, a life where she would always be the victorious heroine. With time, she had realized that because of her birth, her family, and so many other things, it wouldn't be possible. She had resigned to this state as she grew up… but what hurt the most, and what she didn't totally accept, was how she was held from music. That was what had been killing her from the inside for years.

She knew she wasn't the first lady to rebel herself against conventions. There were a group of women, who claimed that a certain author called George Sand (pen-name for Aurore Dupin) was their inspiration and model and who lived quite promiscuously, in Céleste's humble opinion, taking lovers as much as they wanted, not caring about what society would say about their behavior, and, even, sometimes, wore men's clothes just for the pleasure of provoking. Of course, Céleste would never, ever go to such an extremity.

On the contrary, she had rather resigned herself to be married one day, to be at the heart of an estate while her husband would be at the head of it, to bear children… It wasn't because it was an arranged marriage that it would be loveless. No. Céleste had always been convinced that Philippe would find her an honorable man, absolutely worthy of her esteem, and that love, or at least a great friendship and tenderness would follow.

But everything had just changed so much, when Soliman had irrupted in her life, and at the same time, in Erik's… Somehow, the confidence link which had always existed between Philippe and herself, since their parents' death, was broken. It seemed now like she could trust no one.

Céleste wished that she could say what she thought, that she could be herself. But she knew how much it would be selfish. Doing what she wanted meant betraying her family. And she had been raised in high ideals, where constantly, Corneille, speaking to her using Don Diègue's mouth, would repeat: "_L'amour n'est qu'un plaisir, l'honneur est un devoir._ (Love is nothing but a pleasure, honor is a duty.)" She had been raised with the patriarchs of the Bible, the saints, and the heroes from _Le Cid _and _Polyeucte _as models. It was all too omnipresent to be completely and grossly rejected.

But more and more, Erik would come, though unconsciously (or not) and knock at her soul's door. He had a gift to tick her off, just as much as she seemingly had a gift to tick him off and bring him back on good, solid Earth. Erik, who seriously didn't care of what society thought of him, for society had always rejected him. _Because of his face… _

It was a curse, indeed. She had received glimpses of Erik's talents, which didn't only limit themselves to music. He could have been so famous… And, with the half-mask on, she could imagine perfectly well his face without it, but the disfigurement being replaced by smoothness. Now, she didn't say to herself that he could have been handsome. No. He was handsome.

When he came near her, Céleste breathed deeply, but in mind only. She didn't want Erik to see the pressure that was overwhelming her. All was left to hope for her was that she wouldn't blush, or pale, or anything… In a way to show some sort of boldness, she looked towards him. She tried to speak, but words died on her lips. Really, what could she possibly say? That she was sorry? That she didn't really mean what she had said to him? No. It would have been lying. And Céleste didn't want to lie to Erik. The only thought of it oddly disgusted her more than anything. An idea suddenly struck her as a beginning of conversation, not quite bright, to be honest. But this awkward silence was becoming too heavy. Where had the young lady brought up to anime at dinner tables brilliant and almost diplomatic conversations disappeared?

"You know… if ever you feel bored in your cell… There's a piano in the theater where the girls have their music lessons or prepare themselves for plays. No one ever goes in there when there aren't any students. You could be all alone there, if you ever need it."

Erik simply nodded his head. "Thank you," he simply replied, with the shadow of a smile. Yes, it was nothing but a shadow, but Céleste felt incredibly relieved to see it.

"Well… when you'll be done with the snowman," she continued, unable to retain a grin, "I could show you the way."

"Well, now I can say I built at least one snowman in my life," shrugged Erik, trying to have a joking attitude, but bitterness still appearing. Céleste emitted a sigh full of bitter-sweet sadness for Erik. He had just reminded her of the glimpses of his childhood that were revealed to her, where, at the very beginning of his life, he was most certainly forbid of playing in the outdoors like every average little boy…

But Clémence was already back, holding pebbles in one hand and a carrot in the other. Without waiting for Erik to come back, she wanted to model the snowman's face… but she was too tiny to even touch its head. Céleste, wanting to help her, got up, but Erik was quicker. Without further ado, he seized Clémence, lifting her up, which provoked a shriek half of fright, half of delight from the little girl. For a moment, she seemed to forget her task, looking at the whole new world she could see up high. But soon, she drew back of her contemplation, and placed the pebbles and the carrot onto the snowman's head. When she was finished, Erik posed her delicately back on the ground.

Clémence then turned to Erik, and the light smile, entirely a child's smile, appeared on her face, not only on her lips, but in her whole features, as a silent and meaningful way of saying thank you. And at that moment, even with the winter cold, not only Erik, but also Céleste, felt warm.

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><p><strong>Answers to reviews:<strong>

**TheCrimsonPen:** Splintered really looks so good! I checked it out on Goodreads and the sypnosis… Goodness, pure genius. I'm finishing Emily of New Moon and I'm jumping in it!

**Lydia the tygeropean:** LND is BS. Sorry, but yeah. The music is beautiful, but the plot and characters… Everyone is massively out of character: Erik is fluffy and darn stupid, Christine is the one who's the less OOC, still kind of stupid but she is very selfish and she has a spine (until a certain point, if you ask me), Raoul totally pisses me off (excuse the language) by his jerkiness (I think there is a reason for him becoming drunk and gambling, like he knows Christine cheated on him and it destroyed him, but being abusive with her and Gustave? No. I don't buy that AT ALL.), Mme Giry is manipulative, a horrible mother and some sort of evil witch, and Meg… extremely self-centered, psycho, with a not very good self-esteem. Gustave is actually kind of cute; he's a bit of a mini-Erik. Mini-Erik = serious cuteness. Well, Erik, Raoul and Meg basically don't exist in LND, if you ask me. I can sort of buy Christine and Mme Giry, but their in-characterness is dubious at a lot of points. I think I'm going to yell about LND very soon on my Live Journal.

**PhantomFan01:** Well… remember Nadir knows by experience it's better not to take any risks, and he has a rather paranoid nature, so… it doesn't help at all. XD

**Question of the week: since I feel like talking about **_**Love Never Dies **_**(that can be translated by I feel like getting mad, as you can see XD), well, what are your thoughts about it? What did you like most? Hate most?**


	22. Chapter 21

**A/N: I'M PAST THE 200-PAGE LIMIT ON WORD! NO GOING BACK NOW! *out***

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><p><strong>Chapter 21<strong>

When finally, Erik got out of his cell, carrying his bag full of all his music, he was surprised to see, once again, Céleste smiling lightly to him. Without a word, he followed her towards the theater. They finally entered a room, where a large stage hidden by a red curtain without any ornaments on it was the main and strangely plain attraction. But, just beside it, an upright piano was visible. Immediately, they headed towards it.

"The piano is tuned two times a year. I think you won't have any problems with that," started Céleste.

Erik simply nodded, and placed his bag on the piano. Slowly, he started get out a few sheets, darkened by what seemed thousands of notes. Curious, Céleste gazed at them, trying to read the titles of the compositions, until she suddenly heard Erik cough lightly. She lifted her head up, and saw that one of his brows was lifted… Conscious that she hadn't respected his sacrosanct privacy, she lowered her head, like a child caught on mischief.

"I didn't say you couldn't have a look at them."

Céleste looked at Erik, seeing that a shadow of an amused smile was lingering on his features.

"Well, you didn't look too pleased that I did so." She answered, impatiently.

"I wasn't annoyed by you taking a look; I was annoyed by you being indiscreet. Ask me first."

Céleste crossed her arms.

"You're fooling me, right?"

"Maybe," Erik simply replied, a crooked smile replacing the shadow. Céleste was about to answer, but immediately, Erik handed her a pile of music sheets.

"Here. Find something you want to sing."

"Wait, you want to… make me sing… right now?"

"Well, you must warm up first," Erik said casually, his crooked smile still printed on his face.

With a sigh, Céleste headed towards the stage's steps, hiding a grin. While Erik was warming up himself, by playing a few scales which became more and more elaborate and almost a work of art, Céleste went through the different music sheets. Mostly, they consisted in arias and other melodies for mezzo-soprano, and, from time to time, there were also duets for mezzo-soprano and baritone. She smiled when she saw the latter. She wished to perform those, with Erik… though she was sort of embarrassed of asking for that. It was a rather strange feeling… but still present. Absent-mindedly, she looked at the lyrics of the different arias, when finally, some, which were quite familiar to her, caught her eye and gave her quite a surprise: it was an extract from Jean Racine's _Cantiques spirituels_.

"I didn't know you were interested in spirituality," said Céleste, amazed, heading back towards Erik, and handing him the sheet.

"I'm not," he replied. "I know Racine talked of God in his _Cantiques_… but I replace God with music. It's a sacrilege, I know," he added, somehow defiantly, seeing Céleste's lifted brow, and in a way to prove that he couldn't care less.

He looked at the music sheet for a moment; then again, his eyes met Céleste's.

"You chose a duet," he simply stated.

"Really?" Céleste shouted impulsively. _Me and my big mouth. _

"Well…" Erik said, like if he hadn't heard her last reply, "I admit I thought you would rather sing solo."

"No, no, well… actually, I thought you wouldn't and…" Céleste had a slight cough, and retained herself from pinching her cheeks to mentally shake herself up and bring back some dignity. "Well, if you don't mind, I would actually enjoy if you… sang this duet with me."

Erik didn't answer. But he placed the sheets on the piano's music stand, as a silent way to say yes.

"Time to warm up," was his laconic sentence.

After many scales and octaves, where only Céleste sang, and Erik would simply accompany her on the piano, he finally decided she was ready. He handed her the sheets.

"I know the accompaniment by heart. It isn't too difficult to sing. You won't have too much trouble."

Céleste nodded, reassured, since she was at first apprehensive of going into something she had never studied or heard before. But she was getting instinctively worried… was Erik going to sing with her? Well, certainly, since there wasn't really a point to sing a duet when there is only one person… but his gestures and ways started to spread doubt in her mind.

She counted the measures, as Erik started to play the introduction, then, finally, when her measure came, her voice echoed on the vast room's wall, more powerful then she would have suspected it to be, because of her nervousness.

"_L'âme heureusement captive  
><em>_Sous ton joug trouve la paix,  
><em>_Et s'abreuve d'une eau vive  
><em>_Qui ne s'épuise jamais." _

(The soul happily captive  
>Finds peace under your yoke,<br>And quenches itself of a spring water  
>Which never dries up.)<p>

Suddenly, as she was going to attack the next verse, Erik's voice joined hers, to her great surprise.

"_Chacun peut boire en cette onde,  
><em>_Elle invite tout le monde."_

(Each one can drink in this wave,  
>It invites everyone.)<p>

But Céleste suddenly stopped.

"Something is not right," she cried.

Erik brought everything to a halt abruptly, and glared at her. But it didn't intimidate Céleste at all. "What do you mean, something is not right?" he asked, coldly.

"Your voice is contained. You don't sing like you should."

"What do you know about that?" he replied, in the same manner, though his jaw had tightened.

Céleste shrugged, shaking herself mentally at the same time, since the feeling that once again, she had acted foolishly, came back to her.

"I can feel it, that's all."

For a moment, a heavy silence lingered between them.

"Let's start from the 10th measure," Erik suddenly snapped, making Céleste jump. Taking a deep breath, she started to sing again the previous verses, from the beginning… but alone. She was just about to stop… but suddenly, she felt electrified, and anger filled her. Goodness, Erik was just acting like a little kid! Her voice gained more and more power, and finally, when she arrived to the part where she had previously interrupted them…

Erik's voice made itself heard.

For a moment, Céleste thought no sound would now be able of getting out of her throat, for she was stunned by the beauty of the voice accompanying her. Hers seemed now so insignificant… But, refusing to let Erik win, she gained more confidence, more power, throwing as much as she could her voice on the walls, without forcing it either. She was unconscious of the general effect, for she was totally concentrated on her battle and voice. She didn't see Erik's glances towards her. His rather admiring glances…

"_Mais nous courons follement,  
><em>_Chercher des citernes trompeuses,  
><em>_D'où l'eau fuit à tout moment."_

(But we run foolishly,  
>Looking for deceptive tanks,<br>Where the water leaks out at every moment.)

As she finally sang the last note, Céleste breathed in and out deeply, still amazed by the effort she had brought throughout the whole duet, her eyes wide. Slowly, she turned towards Erik, suddenly aware of his presence, now that his voice had silenced itself.

His face was priceless, so to say. He was staring at the music sheet, then at her, his mouth slightly open, his eyes just as wide as were hers. For a moment, Céleste couldn't held herself from comparing Erik to some blubbering teenager, and gained back her senses, even letting a little laugh come out.

"Is everything alright?" she said softly.

Erik simply nodded. He was still struck because of his own performance to regain certain composure and answer coolly to Céleste. God damn it, he had never sung like that since… since that _Don Juan Triumphant _night. Since Christine was gone.

And now… was it the vicomte de Chagny's sister who had made him sing from the depths of his soul again?

No, not the vicomte's sister. Céleste. Simply Céleste. The woman he had learned to know. And… yes, even love.

"Thank you," he finally murmured.

"For what?" Céleste asked, in a voice so soft it even surprised her.

Erik did not reply, but simply, he dared (yes, he dared!) to take Céleste's hand in his scared, bony ones, pressing it gently but firmly. The young lady could feel, at first, their coldness… but as she kept her hand in his, not even trying to get it out because of some awkward feeling of modesty, she felt them becoming warmer and warmer. She lifted her eyes, looking into his… and it was only then that the truth struck her violently.

It was brainless of her to just realize the situation now in its entirety. There had been so many signs of Erik's feelings for her, and some were just so obvious: the music he had composed for her and that he had gave her at the Masquerade Ball, how he preferred having her near him even though his life itself was at risk, that kiss on the forehead which still pulled an awkward-teenager-like smile from her when she would come to think about it…

But everything seemed so… deep now. Céleste realized fully that Erik's soul, since Christine had left him, was gone. And somehow, she, whom Erik would have every reason to hate, had brought it back to him.

Again, she didn't know if she had to smile, laugh of joy or cry, or whatever. Erik loved her. And that idea didn't displease her at all. _On the contrary. _

But the future seemed so blurry, blurry in a way it frightened her. All her life, she had been used to an easy way of living, where she knew she would never have to fight to survive. She admitted this life was sort of boring. She remembered how she used to dream of adventures… but now, she realized, with a sort of bitterness and self-mockery, that she had been as idealistic as Raoul was himself, and too often for her taste. She still had absolutely no idea for how to deal with Soliman. And now, there were the growing feelings Erik had for her, which she didn't want to resist at all, while she knew there was absolutely no future between them. It just wasn't possible.

_What would everyone say? _

_Oh, damn the world! _

_Wait… did I just said damn? _

_Goodness. _

Yes, she was ready to admit that she would be ready to follow Erik anywhere he would go. But this had a terrible condition. It would mean cutting all bonds with her family.

It was strange to say, just now, after hiding so many things from Raoul and Philippe.

But each generation of Chagnys was known for their very strong fraternity. After all, the comté de Chagny had been earned during at the dawn of the reign of Hugues Capet, in 987, when the four brothers Philippe, Raoul, Bernard and Robert had found with the future King Saint Martin's coat itself, appointing Hugues as the one true King of France. In 1098, during the First Crusade, Isabelle de Chagny had stayed on her brother's side while he was dying of the plague, defying every warning she received of becoming ill herself. In 1151, Jehan de Chagny, with an army of a hundred men, had defended Saint-Riquier abbey, where his brother Arnault was abbot, against an army of a thousand led by Hugues de Campdavaine, the Wolf of Saint-Pol. In the following centuries, as the Middle-Ages passed away, the Chagnys went into a more sedentary life, until 1667, where François de Chagny became corsair for Louis XIV. It was only during the French Revolution that they were once again tried out: Louis-Henri and Marie-Angélique de Chagny had quickly joined the Vendee revolt, fighting for their King and their God, until the day where Louis-Henri had been slaughtered by a revolutionary officer… the latter had been almost immediately killed by Marie-Angélique, she, who had been nicknamed, in happier times, the Pearl of Vendee.

Philippe, Céleste and Raoul knew these stories too well. Their father, who wanted them to be as united as possible, had even asked an author to write about the Chagny family's anecdotes throughout the centuries. The collection had been printed in three copies, one for each of them, and, throughout their childhood and their teenage, they had to read one of the stories.

As the years passed, the collection remained more and more in a corner of the library, forgotten. But the stories would stay in their heads, leaving its mark on them forever.

And now, for what was of their generation's story… when their parents had died, Philippe, Raoul and Céleste had stuck together, and, though there were often misunderstandings between them, they knew they could count on each other.

Too many times, in the past few months, Céleste had betrayed their trust, caught in a story where she wanted to get out as soon as possible.

And today, because of _her _feelings for a man who had murdered, even attempt to murder her own brother, a brother she had been like a mother for, she would have to break a bond that had existed for generations.

Philippe and Raoul loved her dearly. But every human love, including fraternal love, has its limits. Céleste knew it herself too well.

And unfortunately, Erik was off limits.

Céleste's throat tightened. She knew that the next thing she had to do was to remove her hand quickly, but gently, and just… tell the words to Erik. They would come. Oh yes, they would come, and just break it all.

_I wondered one day if I would be able to kill someone._

_Well, kill Erik, to be more precise._

_It would have been easy. Who cares for him, anyway? Who would have mourned his death?_

_Now, I know I will never be able to do that._

_There are many ways to kill someone._

_The cruelest way of all is to kill a soul, letting the body wander around earth until old age just grinds it and turns it into dust._

Céleste knew that thanks to her, Erik's soul had come back to him. She couldn't rip it away from him, again, so it could be lost forever.

_Oh, what to do, what to do?_

It was enraging. For the first time in her life, she didn't know what to do.

Then, suddenly, an apparition, who seemed truly heavenly at that moment, showed herself. Céleste gasped, quickly removing her hand from Erik's, in a manner that would make believe that it was for proprieties' sake. As she got out of his grip, she immediately started to breathe more easily, the menace for her future fading away at least temporarily. But she could already feel her hand getting colder. It missed the warm contact of Erik's hands.

_Betrayed by my own body._

Mother Marie-Anne immediately headed towards Céleste, taking the young lady's hands into her wrinkled ones. A gesture that worried Mlle de Chagny, for the nun wasn't very keen on human contact. Goodness, the situation had to be serious.

"You… you have a visitor, child," started Mother Marie-Anne, hesitating in the choice of her words, which only troubled Céleste even more. "There's a man here to see you. He said he's your fiancé."

The Mother Superior would never forget the look which had imprinted, for a moment, on Erik and Céleste's faces. Slowly, they had turned to each other, a mix of fear, anger, numbness, lack of power all colliding and struggling for primacy… until Céleste came back on Earth, clearing her throat.

"Very well. He's in the parlor, I suppose? I'll go and see him."

"No way," growled Erik. He had hoped, for a moment that his feral tone would intimidate the two women. But they seemingly weren't intimidated at all.

"As long as he doesn't see you, we're fine," snapped Céleste. So, I'll just go and see him, do like nothing was wrong, explain that I still need to think and everything and that I don't want any visitors. Mother Marie-Anne will be with me, with the lay sister."

"That won't hold him from…" started Erik.

"Unless he wants problems with the archdiocese and the authorities, I don't think he'll harm me. All I'm telling you is that I don't need a bodyguard." Céleste leaned slightly towards Erik, her eyes staring intently at his. "Stay here. I don't want you to follow me…"

"What? You seriously think I'm going to get caught that easily? You seriously think I'm going to obey you like a child?" snorted Erik.

Céleste was going to reply, but suddenly, a little red-head entered the room.

"Mademoiselle! I…"

"Clémence!" interrupted Céleste, a wide smile on her face, for she knew exactly what to do. "Now, I'm going to ask you something." She kneeled in front of the little girl, turning her back to Erik, like if didn't exist anymore.

"I want you to keep an eye on Erik, all right? He mustn't get out of the room. If he does… hold your breath."

Clémence nodded intently, while Erik got up, lifting a brow. "What the he –"

"No cursing. If you're not a good obedient child, you'll see," answered Céleste, turning towards him, incapable of keeping a cheeky grin.

Without further ado, Céleste headed towards the door, her head high, like if she was going to some battle where the outcome was still uncertain, but, whatever would happen, she would face the consequences with dignity. Mother Marie- Anne followed her, slowly, and, at the same time, took out of her pocket a rosary, her lips moving slightly being the only sign of her body that she was praying intently.

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><p><strong>AN: About the anecdotes I told about the Chagnys… I know someone that's going to like them… XD Gosh, I think I'm going to make myself a FictionPress account and write about them. XD**

**And those of you who are wondering how Clémence will hold Erik from following Céleste simply by holding her breath… I'll give you a clue. Think of Pépé from the **_**Astérix **_**comics. Okay, I don't think it will help much… but if you guessed the reference, you get a big pot of virtual cookies.**

**Answers to reviews:**

**Lydia the tygeropean: **I personally wouldn't say so. I've seen WAY worse, believe me. I think everyone will agree with me when I'll say _High School Musical _is a way worse musical than _Love Never Dies_, right? I saw once a theatrical adaptation of Agatha Christie's _And Then There Were None _and believe me, it was WAY worse than LND, especially with its happy ending… No further comments. LND had good elements like it had terrible elements, but I'll come back to that at the end of the chapter. ;)

**TheCrimsonPen: **Clémence rocks! And yeah, I do admit the music for LND is actually great…

**PhantomFan01: **Adorableness, oh yes! Well, Erik isn't afraid of freezing Clémence's heart, that's for sure! For the cast… well, I never saw the London version, unfortunately. But I must say that beside Ben Lewis that I didn't really like (sorry, but it's Ramin's fault mostly), they were all really good! Your comment about Christine dying reminds me of my cousin (a guy, FYI) who watched 2004 POTO with me and he was sure Christine was going to die at the end. Don't ask me why.

**Aria: **Your review just made me so happy. OMG. THANK YOU SO MUCH! Riding in a tour bus with dumb movies? I know what you mean. I went in one and the movies we watched were two stupid dance movies and after, _Beautiful Creatures_. But knowing who took care of the movies… I wasn't too surprised. (But gosh, after seeing a thousand gazillion times Emmy Rossum as Christine… it was really weird to see her as a villain.) One of my buddies saw that _Beautiful_ _Creatures _was starting and he just yelled: "SOMEONE PUT _THE KING'S SPEECH, _PLEASE!" Big silence. People were glaring at him, but he was my hero. XD

Well, I think that Erik, after what happened with Christine, has been damaged. So, you know, he really did EVERYTHING, even if that meant killing people, to win Christine, but it didn't work… so in his mind, well, it's pretty much: "I'm not worthy of being loved" though he is conscious now that anyway, Christine and he wouldn't have been happy together… And, well, Céleste does have EVERY REASON in the world not to like him, if you ask me! Though she did show a lot of signs that she did. ;)

I don't buy E/OC or E/M phanfics where Erik sees Meg/the OC, ogles and just goes like "Christine who?" It's totally OOC. Erik won't forget her in the blink of an eye. First love, first heartbreak… You never forget those. And he got an intense experience, so to say. Though here, in _Let It Go_, for the needs of the story, it stayed in an obsessive love state, since at the end, Erik didn't let Christine go as an act of true love, but because he finally realized she would never be happy with him… So my story is a bit of an alternate ending on certain points… Céleste is more his equal, and also, as I wrote _Let It_ _Go_, I realized that they both have the same soul, only, it went on different variations. Erik is fire. Céleste is ice. A Song of Ice and Fire. *out* *needs to stop watching _Game of Thrones_, though the show's quality has increased quite a bit since Joffrey… okay, I'll stop with the spoilers*

How can you possibly refuse to build a snowman? XD And Erik sneaking out to make a snowman… XD I don't think he'll actually do that, but it's still cute imagining that. XD

I think Erik does realize more and more that Céleste can be a totally adorable girl when you know how to handle her. Like himself, actually. I'm sure he has a really beautiful nature, but you have to know how to handle him. ;)

Soliman? I think you forgot to read chapter 19. We get a glimpse of him, and also glimpses of Christine and Raoul, and Meg and the Daroga. ;)

I agree with you on LND, except for the music… But I'll come back to that. And I do wonder what happened to the Opera Populaire when Erik left…

**inujisan: **Isn't it THE quote? XD

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Well, I'm really thinking of a way where Raoul could be a cat-burglar… Really. XD And just impressing Erik once and for all. I'm seeing him succeeding in it and just having that little self-satisfied smirk for Erik… before almost getting punjabed, and being saved thanks to Céleste's intervention…

Céleste: *on berserk mode* DON'T YOU TOUCH MY DARLING BABY BROTHA!

Erik: *glares at Céleste* Darling. Baby. Brother. *sniggers*

Raoul: *death glares them both*

I also think Raoul still loves Christine in LND. It's actually pretty obvious… I mean, he accepts to respect the bet's terms and just leaves Coney Island, knowing that Christine will be happier with Erik anyway (or will she?), while he could have presented himself at court with his wedding certificate in order to force Erik to give him Christine back… And I'm sure that if Meg hadn't gone psycho, Christine would have gone after Raoul, and E/C shippers wouldn't have gotten their nice, fluffy ending. If she didn't, that would mean she is heartless, which isn't her case. Really. Whatever she said to Erik in her death scene. Even with all the OOCness in LND, it still didn't seem right for Christine to end up with Erik. Their relationship in the Australian production (in the original one, not so much) was still pretty much: "Christine, sing!" like in POTO. And it's true that Raoul and Christine forgiving each other does make a lot more sense… And then, Erik finally sees Meg and all she did for him… (E/M shipper hello). It makes me think of a LND phanfic I read recently, which was going towards that: _The Phoenix _by Ace of Gallifrey. But unfortunately, it seems abandoned…

And I 100% agree with you on the 1925 film. I have a lot of respect for Lon Chaney Sr., but… yeah.

I really do think Christine had more of a father/daughter relationship with Erik. That's why at first, I used to say that an E/C story is possible only if Raoul is completely absent, but now… I would say it would be more of a father/daughter relationship than lovers because of their personalities. So don't ask me to write an in-character E/C story. XD

Alexandre is going to be useful for what's coming next – you know, the adorkable, cute kind of guy, who can reveal himself to be quite surprising… Just imagine him with cheeky, cute, gutsy little Meg… OMG. *cuteness overdose*

Well, usually, when you're busy washing the saucepans, you don't bring it with you to open the door… unless you want to use it to defend yourself Rapunzel-style… XD (I know, I know, I'll stop watching the Miss Marple series, because now I sound just like her.)

Well, the apartment is the only place where the Girys could keep an eye on Erik and stay in full control of the situation… ;)

Well, yes, it's true people will finish by notice Alexandre's disappearance. But who will think he's prisoner at the Girys' apartment, since no one knows about Alexandre and Meg's relationship? And the Daroga prefers taking that risk (which isn't that big, if you ask me) instead of having Alexandre telling about his hiding-place…

Alexandre's reaction to being in Meg's bedroom? You'll see that soon. XD

Soliman actually assumes that Erik and Céleste ran away just in time. So now, he's going to try out in the convent, since it seems pretty evident that they're hiding there… Evident, yes, almost ridiculously, but try to find someone in there… Convents can be labyrinths. Let's just say that about taming Céleste… it's sort of a challenge for him. (Mwahahaha.)

**And before I forget… My turn to answer the question. XD The good things for LND. **

**There were a few, I must admit it. The music was really good: **_**Till I Hear You Sing**_**, **_**The Beauty Underneath**_**, **_**Devil Takes the Hindmost **_**(the quartret) ****and **_**Why Does**__**She Love Me **_**(Meg's part) were awesome. The two first should be sung by Ramin Karimloo only. Seriously, no one else should be allowed to touch those songs. The melody to **_**Beneath a Moonless Sky **_**was beautiful, I've would have liked it if it wasn't for the lyrics… (Actually, during the 2004 movie, you catch a glimpse of it when Christine wakes up and goes to the cemetery). **_**Bathing Beauty **_**is the worst song ever written by men (okay, a lot of today's pop songs are worse because they are sooo repetitive), and I absolutely don't buy Erik writing that crap… I liked the parallels ALW would draw between Erik and Meg, showing that they have the same soul, only gone on different variations. I liked the original London cast, I've only heard them, but they were awesome! I never understood why ALW fired them and just reopened in Melbourne with a totally different cast… The Aussie cast… I loved Anna O'Byrne and how maternal she was with Gustave, Sharon Millerchip was amazing, I fall in love with Simon Gleeson's voice every time… Maria Fernandez looked like Dracula's mom (no explanation) and Ben Lewis… I said what I think of him in the last chapter, so… After hearing Ramin, I get pretty tough to please.**

**The things I hate. The plot was ridiculous, melodramatic and improbable on so many levels. The characters, shockingly OOC. Well. When you think about it… it's Christine's OOCness that started everything, and her OOCness and also Erik's provoked Raoul's OOCness. Then Erik continued being OOC, and provoked Meg's OOCness. Mme Giry, unfortunately, has absolutely no excuse. Seriously, I hated Madame in LND. She was just… a really bad person.**

**First conclusion: If you think Erik does disserve his happy ending (and I think it's the cast for most Phans) and if you want a good Phantom sequel, read **_**The Phoenix of the Opera **_**series by Sadie Montgomery. Unless you're really absolutely not an E/M shipper. Or read my phanfic *out***

**Second conclusion: Seriously… It just pisses me off (scuse my English) when people go like "Oh, poor Erik, Christine is dead…" and don't care about Raoul or Meg. Erik has Gustave. Raoul has no one. (Though I don't think Gustave will cut all bonds with Raoul… no?) And Meg… not sure she's going to stay at Phantasma, so to say. What will happen to her? Well, the answer is: she'll have to prostitute herself for good. So the victims here aren't Christine and Erik. It's really Raoul and Meg. And… I don't know, I was always against R/M pairings, since they seem to be there only to get the E/C pairing easier to achieve, and even in LND, I don't see Raoul and Meg together. Yes, she had that part where she covered Raoul's eyes and told him something like to be careful in front of Erik… A lot wanted to go from there, but you know, she really did that not for him, but just so he can win back Christine and she can keep Erik for herself. And Raoul… he still loves Christine, and he's really a one-girl type of guy to me. You may not agree with me, but that's how I see it.**

**Question of the day: Actually, it's to know if the story is coming along nicely. ;) Is the relationship between Céleste and Erik going too fast? Too slow? Is Céleste Mary-Sue-ish? Is Erik OOC? Actually… how're the story plot and the characters in general? **


	23. Chapter 22

**A/N: I'm glad to see that no one thinks that Céleste is Mary-Sue-ish, and that the story is coming in nicely! Seriously, I was just so afraid of falling into bad E/OC phanfic stereotypes... But I'm so happy to see this isn't the case, especially when this is my first phanfic ever. So yay! XD**

**Besides that… Not only I'm getting more and more Erik/Meg obsessed, I'm also getting more and more Doctor/Romana obsessed. Seriously. I think I'm going to blackmail**

**Steven Moffat so he can bring Romana back on Doctor Who. And must I mention that when I see Romana I, I just can't help thinking of Céleste? Seriously, she's totally her Doctor Who counterpart. **

**And this year is my prom year. And I'm not going to prom. I'm so proud of myself. Just going to hang out with my dorky, geeky and nerdy friends that night. (NO, WE WILL NOT PLAY **_**WORLD OF WARCRAFT**_**.) **

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><p><strong>Chapter 22<strong>

Soliman al-Din Qajar wasn't used to wait for so long. Always, in his entire life, he just had to snap his fingers so his servants (or, more appropriately titled, his slaves, but slavery being abolished in Europe, you had to be careful with those terms) would obey him in the blink of an eye, fear being by itself an excellent motivation. If they didn't… they would be reminded of their sluggishness for a long time, if it wasn't for eternity, in their grave.

But now, with some sort of old harpy of a nun as some sort of guard, he could do nothing more but to wait. When he had presented himself to the Sacré-Coeur convent, he had hoped for a younger nun as a portress, easier to impress… But immediately, when he had seen the grim face of the old witch, he knew his little charm tricks would be of no use here, and to act violently would shatter all his plans. When he had, in the most polite and gentle way possible, that he wished to see Mademoiselle Céleste de Chagny, the portress had grumbled something incomprehensible, which made Soliman definitely sure that she was probably mumbling some sort of exorcism against the Saracen who had made such a dreadful entrance in this sacrosanct place. Finally, she rang a bell, so that another nun, even older-looking than the portress and even more skeletal, made her entrance, and presented herself as the Mother Superior.

Mother Marie-Anne, as much as she could, tried to convince the Shah's brother that Mlle de Chagny was in a very severe retreat following the rule of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, and so she insisted, until courtesy simply couldn't hold her from accepting this visit. Finally, making sign to the portress to bring Soliman to the parlor, she had left, to go and get Céleste, to find her, thankfully, in the theater, without having to make too hard of a search. After all, she was certain that that young man would want to try out the piano…

The beads of her rosary slipped slowly through her hands as she walked beside Céleste, the two of them heading towards the parlor. _Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum._ Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee. _And may the Lord be with us on this dreadful moment._ Mother Marie-Anne had indeed no idea of what would happen. All was left to do for her was to pray. Céleste, now, was only mistress of her side of the chessboard. Soliman was master on the other side.

Céleste took a deep breath before entering the parlor, conscious she would need every bit of her mind for the upcoming scene or rather duel. It was with a serene expression on her face, so serene Mother Marie-Anne was herself surprised of it, that she entered.

"Monsieur," she started, with a sweet smile, the kind of smile she was used to pull out when it came to unwanted suitors. "I must say your visit is quite unexpected."

Her last sentence could be interpreted in many ways, so to say. But the afore-mentioned sweet smile was seemingly so sincere it could leave absolutely no doubt.

"Mademoiselle," Soliman replied, in the same manner, but in the way Céleste couldn't help shivering. Sweetness didn't fit him at all. "I must say I have suffered of your abrupt departure."

_Of course you did, _thought Céleste.

"Well, I must say myself, Monsieur, that with your quite unexpected demand, I really do need time to think about all this."

Silence lingered for a moment. Mlle de Chagny and Mother Marie-Anne retained themselves from looking at each other, and gulping. Their adversary's face was totally indecipherable, and he was staring at some sort of invisible spot, his eyes seemingly not blinking. For a moment, Céleste even wondered if he was still conscious. Oh, how much she wanted him to simply collapse on the ground, dead! Her sudden desire for it became so strong she didn't even scold herself for such murderous thoughts.

"May I come and visit you, Mademoiselle?" Soliman finally asked.

It took a superhuman effort for Céleste not to yell: "No!" Instead, she simply replied, with a soft and almost sad smile:

"Oh, Monsieur… I am aware of your attentions, but I really need to retire myself from the world for the next three weeks and turn my heart towards Our Lord, so He can reveal to me His ways."

_I think I'll give Erik diplomacy lessons. _The mere thought of it, coming in quite unexpectedly, especially in such an unpleasant moment, almost made Céleste giggle, but thankfully, she was able to retain herself from doing so.

A look of disappointment appeared on Soliman's face, so annoying Mlle de Chagny, for a moment, wanted to break the grille with her bare hands and slap him just to make that despicable air disappear.

But, just before he would give an answer as annoying as his face, Céleste immediately added:

"I don't even want my family to visit me, Monsieur. But don't worry," she finally said, as some sort of encouragement. "I'm certain this retreat will help me concerning my future."

"Then I'll be waiting for your return with great impatience, Mademoiselle," Soliman replied, with a bow of his head as a sign of goodbye. Céleste replied in the same manner, and exiting the parlor as quickly as politeness could permit her. Mother Marie-Anne was just about to leave herself when, suddenly, Soliman's voice stopped her.

"May I speak to you for a moment, Madame?"

"Mother, please," answered the nun, as stoically as she could, though she could already feel this conversation was going up to absolutely no good at all.

"Well, Mother," Soliman said, his tone becoming suddenly very sardonic, and absolutely prived of its former poisoned honey tone, "I will ask you one question: are you hiding a man, by any chance? Now, just tell me truth. You probably know very well it's a sin to lie."

The Mother Superior and the portress stiffened. But while the latter remained silent, leaving Mother Marie-Anne to answer, the old nun suddenly responded, calmly:

"I do not know of who you're talking about, monsieur."

The portress said nothing, but she felt a chill running down her spine as she listened with amazement to the Mother Superior lying so calmly.

"I think you know very well, on the contrary," continued Soliman. "You are hiding the Opera Ghost, aren't you? By some sort of Christian charity?"

"Monsieur, are you implying that I am a liar?" shouted Mother Marie-Anne, her face turning red and her voice taking a tone with strength quite surprising for her frail appearance.

"No, not at all," Soliman answered, suddenly calmer. "Excuse me for my rudeness."

"It's the least you can say, monsieur," the nun replied, immediately getting up, and leaving the parlor, while the portress pointed to Soliman the exit, and quickly followed the Mother Superior.

They both ran through the corridor, despite their old age, getting as far as they could from that dreadful room, until, finally, they stopped. Mother Marie-Anne turned almost solemnly towards the portress, looking ten years older, and declaring, in a mournful voice:

"Soeur Céline, I have sinned… I have lied to save a man's life. For my penitence, you shall give me thirty-five lashes."

Though she had been shocked, a few minutes earlier, by the Mother Superior lying so calmly, the portress gasped.

"Mother…" came out of her mouth, involuntarily.

"Our Lord has been whipped for saying the Truth," snapped Mother Marie-Anne. "Now go and obey. I'll wait for you in my cell."

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><p>It was evident he would pull nothing from Céleste or those Harpies of a nun – not in such conditions where he was supposed to be as pacific as possible. Soliman headed out of the convent, looking briefly around the convent's front garden. Winter's desolation was more than ever present. The Christmastide enchantment had faded away, and the warmer temperatures had even started to melt the snow a bit, giving it a grey color. The bushes and trees, as grey as the sky on that day, bare of all their leaves, seemed to be congealed in their last position, twist in some sort of agony before giving away their last breath.<p>

The only sign of life present was a silhouette on one of the convent's covered entrances, brooming the stairs rather energetically, throwing away so much dust you could actually wonder if the porch had ever been sweeped. It was evident that the silhouette was one of a young person. Soliman smiled. It looked like finally, fortune did smile to him today.

Hélène Gaulthier had just arrived three weeks ago. Under the postulantes' white bonnet and black widow dress was hidden a young, innocent girl who was determined to follow her vocation and always do her best to achieve her goal, hoping that one day, she would even be found worthy of being sent into faraway countries as a missionary. Yes, she had left everything behind her, even her suitor who had cried (like a baby, as she would think later in disgust) when he had learned her final decision.

Not so later then twenty minutes ago, Mother Marie-Anne had sent her to sweep every porch. And she sweeped. Like if her salvation only depended of if the porches were clean or dusty.

Yes, Hélène Gaulthier was a wide-eyed idealist.

And then, when she threw away a big pile of dust, she certainly didn't expect someone to just receive it.

A loud cough suddenly made her jump and even shriek of surprise. When finally, the cloud of dust faded away, and that she saw a person all covered in dust, and that that person was a man, whose presence was quite unexpected, the virgin blushed of confusion. Partly of embarrasement for throwing dust on a stranger, partly to see a man, after three weeks being surrounded only by women… Yes, there was that man whom Mother Superior had talked about, and that everyone had to protect by not telling the outside world about his presence, tied to that promise by the vow of obedience… but she had only heard him play that morning, helding the nuns from singing Matins, and, beside a silhouette where she couldn't even distinguish a face, she had only heard a quite melodious though embarrassed voice mutter some word of excuse for playing the organ at such an hour. Yes, it was indeed a man. But still ghostly for Hélène, so he didn't count. Having a man of flesh and bones at one meter of your person is a whole other thing.

"Oh dear… I am so sorry… Really, I didn't know you were there… Please, let me help you."

Without further ado, Hélène quickly fussed over the man's clothes, forgetting her initial embarrasement for simple politeness, but, as she sensed his glance on her, she couldn't help blushing more and more.

Hélène Gaulthier was a wide-eyed idealist.

And it would probably be her downfall.

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><p>Erik did his best not to look too much at his improvised bodyguard. He was furious of her presence, cursing Céleste, though he would never admit that it was for the rather foolish reason that she had asked a little pixie of a red-head to watch him. Clémence did her job well, so to say. She was looking intently at Erik, sitting as straight as a soldier on her chair, obviously concentrating very hard on her duty by her pout and her furrowed brows, her hands firmly holding her seat, her legs swinging being the only sign she hadn't become a statue.<p>

Anyway, what was little Clémence's secret weapon? Céleste was no fool; Erik knew that a bit too well. But what could a little elf-fairy do against the Phantom of the Opera himself, similar to a fallen angel, a prince of a dark fairy tale or even a sinister enchanter? Not so much. In stories, when two characters such as them would confront, it would always end up as him locking up Clémence in some cage, until the Snow Queen called Céleste would come and free her, and… well, Erik knew he would be good for a big argument. But he had to admit that just the idea of Céleste being furious because of him was rather pleasant.

What was Clémence's secret weapon, then?

With a smirk, he headed towards the door, waiting for the little girl's reaction. He wasn't really going to get out, of course. It was true that it was rather imprudent and useless. But _he needed to know_. If the little girl's so-called weapon was indeed absurd, he would have an excellent reason to tease Céleste afterwards. His smile only widened just at the thought of it...

Really, what was it? Screaming her lumbs out until the paint came off the walls? Little girls were good at that. He knew it thanks to the ballet rats.

"Where are you going?" Clémence chirped as solemnly as she could.

With a devilish grin (goodness, this was so much fun), Erik turned back towards the red-head.

"I'm getting out. And you won't stop me."

"Oh really?" Clémence's hands rolled into fists, and immediately, she got off her chair. In a more than determined step, she headed towards Erik, her head almost turned towards the ceiling as she tried to look into his eyes. "I will not let you out!"

Erik slightly leaned towards her, keeping himself for laughing, trying more than ever to intimidate the little pixie with his great height and his black figure. All that was missing was the Phantom's deadly glare… and he would have probably needed it here, since Clémence still didn't blink one bit. For a moment, it reminded him of Céleste's attitude towards him… except she had the privilege of the deadly glare… and still, she wouldn't shiver… at least, in outer shell.

"Then what will you possibly do, mademoiselle? Blind me with your fairy dust?" His last sentence had truly got out by itself: really, more than ever, Clémence looked like a tiny fairy… only the wings were missing.

"I don't have fairy dust… not yet," she declared. "But…"

And, without further ado, Clémence took a deep breath and… hold it.

Quickly, the little girl's face turned even redder than her hair, and, soon after, purple.

Well, Erik certainly wasn't expecting that.

In less than a second, he was panicking.

"Stop! Stop! Don't… don't do that. I won't get out, all right?"

He immediately cursed himself for being vanquished so easily, and by a little girl. But honestly, for a moment, he had thought she was going to hold her breath until she would faint. And what would Céleste say when she would come back?

Thankfully, Clémence's face found a more natural color, as she took deep breaths to recover from her effort. She smiled at Erik.

"See. I told you I wouldn't let you out."

"Go to Hell," he muttered, before realizing, with a certain horror (really?) that he had spoken aloud.

"I can't go to Hell," Clémence replied, frowning rather cheekily. "I'm not dead yet. And anyway, I will not go to Hell, because I say my prayers every morning and every night, because Mother Marie-Anne says it's really wicked not to."

Erik headed back towards the piano, trying desperately to forget about Clémence's presence, retaining himself from giving her a tirade on the subject of "There are far more wicked things than not reciting your prayers". Angrily, he attacked the instrument, improvising from a theme by Paganini in a way to drain his bad mood. It was only after five minutes, which seemed simply timeless to him, that a gentle pat on the shoulder stopped him.

"What?" He shouted, furious of being interrupted. But his expression somehow softened when he saw Clémence's innocent face, and, most astonishingly, her eyes full of admiration.

"That was so beautiful! It was scary, but beautiful! You play better than Soeur Louise and me."

"Really?" Erik said, his brow lifted and with the shadow of a smile. "You play?"

"A tinsy wincy bit," Clémence answered, gesturing with her fingers.

"Then… can I ask you to play for me?" he asked gently.

Clémence quickly blushed, and covered her head in her hands.

"She won't even play for me," said a voice behind them. Erik and Clémence turned towards it, to see that Céleste had come back.

"So?" Mlle de Chagny immediately demanded. "Has Erik behaved well, Clémence?"

For a moment, Erik wanted to disappear ten feet underground.

"No. He wanted to get out. But I hold my breath."

The look of triumph on Clémence's and most especially Céleste's features were simply unbearable. And it had to stop. Thankfully, Erik knew exactly how to bring down his adversary… until next time.

"Well, I must say that I didn't expect from you to ask a child to almost suffocate herself so I won't get out."

Surprisingly, Céleste and Clémence looked at each other… before immediately roaring of laughter.

"What on Earth is going on?" snapped Erik, loudly.

"Well, mademoiselle Clémence here has a gift," Céleste asked, still cheerful. "Her face can change color on her own command."

"What the…" Erik turned to the little girl, who, immediately, made a display of her talents. Seemingly without any effort, her face turned red, then purple, then paled, then turned red again…

And for the first time, Erik Destler, the Phantom of the Opera, the Angel of Death, had absolutely nothing to say, except for blubbering, furious:

"You… you… you little… ARGH!"

And, in a fraction of second, Erik was laughing with them.

When finally, they calmed themselves down, Céleste and Erik looked at each other, both astonished. Céleste, astonished of seeing Erik laughing so sincerely. Erik, astonished of seeing how the pair had tricked him and somehow, he hadn't been really maddened. Before, he would have been enraged of the simple fact someone had dared to defy the infamous Opera Ghost… but this time, it seemed like it didn't really matter.

And most especially, astonished that, while the threat called Soliman was still hanging above their heads like Damocles' sword, they still found a way to laugh together.

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><p><strong>AN: For what is of Clémence's rather weird talent… my brother can do that. Really. ;P **

**Answers to reviews:**

**Igenlode Wordsmith:** I've also re-read myself, and I have trouble understanding myself now… (I know, I stink) Well, I think that what I wanted to explain was that Erik, during his entire life, has only tried to survive, always, constantly, without caring about people around him. But you know, in his case, it's normal, because no one really ever cared for him. Even the Daroga and Mme Giry are sort of distant for him. I do believe Christine does care for him (not love, but just care), despite acting quite heartlessly during _The Point of no Return_, but I can sort of understand her point during that part. But because of Erik's obsessive one-sided love for her and her love for Raoul, she really can't do much. She doesn't have the strength for it anyway. But Erik realizes now is that though the world has been cruel with him, well, he behaved just in the same way with other people (when he was a court assassin in Persia, and even later, with Christine).

We do have here another example of Erik going against conventions ;) Well, the only operas I know where a mezzo-soprano has a major role are _Carmen_ (Carmen herself), _Werther_ (Charlotte), _The Barber of Seville_ (Rosina) and _Don Giovanni_ (Dona Elvira). I do see Céleste singing Charlotte and Dona Elvira (and if Céleste did have a part in _Don Juan Triumphant_, she would really be Elvira in my opinion), but not Rosina and not AT ALL Carmen. She would go on an epic rant on modesty if you asked her to sing that. XD Besides that, mezzos are really "witches, bitches and britches": witches, sorceresses, old women (though they can also be contraltos, but that type of voice is rather rare), evil step-sisters, prostitutes, soubrettes, pageboys… And, well… Céleste really has the mezzo-soprano type of personality, musical-speaking. Because, well, you know, soprano roles are usually the pretty ingénues who don't get any character development and are mostly there to be pretty and soft, often be damsels in distress and fall in love with the handsome male lead (Christine, Johanna, Emma, Glinda, Cosette, Mina Harker). The only two exceptions I know to those rules are Maria von Trapp (until a certain point) and La Carlotta, who is more present for comic relief. Mezzo-sopranos play characters that are persecuted, or depressed, or unsatisfied, or hiding something, or all of that at different degrees, and usually, their life improve/worsens when they meet the tenor/baritone who might just be their love interest. (Meg, Fantine, Eponine, Elsa, Elphaba, Lucy from Jekyll and Hyde, Lucy Westenra, Evita, Esmeralda, Tiana, Rapunzel, and Céleste ;) ) I could continue this rant with contraltos, tenors and baritones, and explain why Raoul should be a tenor and Erik a baritone, but I'll just do that on my LJ.

What I meant by "You are not to be pitied... You're too much to be pitied" could be translated by "Vous n'êtes pas à plaindre… Vous êtes trop [grand? exceptionnel? talentueux?] pour qu'on vous plaigne." It's really a French expression; I'll have to modify that.

Thanks so much for saying that Céleste is absolutely un-Mary-Sue-ish, it just really made my day! I really don't see Céleste obsessing about what's behind the mask. She really isn't compelled to that kind of morbidity. I mean, seriously, Leroux-Christine and movie-Christine (during _I Remember_) ripping the mask off was believable and even in-character, but Sierra-Christine… It didn't make a lot of sense with the rest of her character. But I'll develop that in my LND rant… you'll see. Sooo… back to the subject. Céleste would indeed be able to live with Erik with his mask always on, seriously. Not because she doesn't want to see the disfigurement to get grossed out, but simply because if Erik wants to keep it on, fine! No problem! She'll respect that. And I admit that Clémence ripping off Erik's mask hasn't even crossed my mind one second…

It's a common behavior among sociopaths not to care about what other people think of them except for one thing on which they go totally paranoid. In Erik's case, as you can see, the way he acts with the managers, _Don Juan Triumphant_ itself, you can see that he doesn't care of the world. Anyway, it has always rejected him, and he really lives in some sort of dark, musical parallel world where he's the ruler (The name "Erik" does mean "Eternal Ruler" ;) ). A quote that has always stuck up to me when I read Susan Kay's novel is when Charles Garnier tells Erik he should have been Emperor. ;) (and Erik did promise Mme Giry Meg would be Empress… Okay, okay, I'm stopping with my E/M obsession) His paranoid element would really be his disfigurement, which really started off , speaking of Erik's name being "Eternal Ruler"… each name in POTO is extremely symbolic. Christine reminds us of "Christ", being Erik's redemption, Raoul is a medieval name which really reminds us of the knights back then, and has the same resonance as Lancelot, Perceval, and Galahad… And Meg is the diminutive for Marguerite, which means "Pearl" (you know, a pearl hidden in an oyster, which no one sees until you open the oyster? I can't help thinking of movie-Meg here).

I'll have to listen to _Bathing Beauty_ instrumentals… because I think it mostly the voices that annoy me. But unlike you, I do like hard rock, but only when the voice is melodious (ex. Nightwish). When the singer is just screaming in the microphone… no.

I agree with you on _Look With Your Heart_. It was too Disney-ish, and wildly different of everything Christine did and said in POTO… though it is believable that she finally decided, from her rough experience, to stop being a whiny teenager. But for what is of

Raoul… in my opinion, yes, Christine would be able to look with her heart (anyway it's all her fault if he became like this IMO). Now I totally agree with you on the fact LND's logical end would have been Raoul and Christine reconciling. But I admit that I never thought that Raoul could feel responsible for Christine's death… Wow. Poor Raoul seriously needs help.

**Theobsessiongirl:** Thank you so much for your kind review! Seriously, those are the kind of things that really make my day. Don't worry; I'm getting a serious addiction to writing this story, so I swear I will never abandon it!

**Lydia the tygeropean:** Nope, Céleste sure isn't whiny at all! XD But glad to see the romance here isn't too rushed… So happy to hear that!

**PhantomFan01: **Did you guess who the fiancé is? Tee-hee. ;)

**Curious: **Thank you so much for your review! Seriously, I just grinned a bit stupidly after reading it. To sum it all: it made my day. ;)

So I wanted my E/OC phanfic to be different from the other ones out there. Let's face it, E/OC phanfics have a bit of a bad reputation because most of the time, the OC is swooning around Erik and/or some lost phangirl and/or a simply "updated" version of Christine (you know, prettier, better singer, able to look beyond Erik's disfigurement? Well, "better singer" is not that bad of an idea since it is after all Christine's voice that dragged Erik towards her, but now it's just so over-used.). Here, no, absolutely not! I wanted Céleste to be Christine's absolute opposite, in appearance and in character, so I wouldn't fall into that mistake. But I think what drags Erik to Céleste is that she is the only one who is able to stand up to him (something Christine obviously cannot do). Céleste really treats Erik like if he was her equal. I think one thing that has helped is that she has never seen his disfigurement. Now let me explain, it's not because she would go all whining and yell: "Ew, he's ugly". Simply, she wouldn't see him in the same way and she would be more disposed to feel pity towards him. Now, well, since she isn't sort of "haunted" by Erik's disfigurement, she's able to get to really know him better… ;)

I don't see Erik and Céleste falling into each other's arms AT ALL. Erik, because of Christine's rejection, is damaged and thinks he isn't worthy of being loved. He's still bitter about it (though throughout the story, he gets to accept her choice more and more), and, because of his past, he really has trouble to just trust someone. Just Christine, he wanted to trust her so badly, but she just betrayed him again and again. The most shocking example is when she unmasked him in the middle of _Don Juan Triumphant_… And already, Christine didn't trust him herself… Céleste, well, she has received a stern education, very puritanical, and just at the beginning of the story, she felt embarrassed of being alone in the chapel with Erik. She is everything but impulsive, and thinks before speaking… not always, sometimes she betrays her own thoughts when they become very strong or when she is taken on surprise, but when it comes to love becoming more physical… she needs time.

And I really love your comparison between Céleste and Mary Crawley, a character that I absolutely adore. They are indeed similar. ;)

My story is rated T, but it's mostly for bad language, violence and angst. I never write really explicit moments, this being a matter of principles. I know, you'll say I'm too conservative, but it's important to me. The worst it will get will be Big Damn Kisses and a few allusions to more heaty stuff, but that's it. But I think this actually helps in my writing. XD

Once again, thank you so much for your kind review! Just the kind that make my day, and I hope to hear more of you!

**Aria:** Who took care of the movies? The school clone girls. *out* Long live dorks, geeks and nerds. Well, Emmy wasn't too bad as a villain; it's just weird to see her as nice, sweet, too-naïve-for-her-own-good Christine Daaé a thousand gazillion times and then having her as an evil sorceress. Like I felt really weird in the first few minutes of _The King's Speech_ seeing Helena Bonham Carter as Elizabeth the Queen Mother, after seeing her a thousand gazillion times in wacky-spooky Tim Burton movies… But seriously, it just shows how great of an actress she is: able to play and voice creepy roles, caricatured roles, and really serious ones, like Elizabeth the Queen Mother, and just so beautifully each time.

A rushed relationship between Céleste and Erik would be indeed extremely Mary-Sue-ish… Gosh, now I'm just imagining _How I Met Your Mother_ Erik/Céleste style. Oh dear me. XD

I like what you said about the fact that we run from love because we are afraid of what it will bring. That's EXACTLY what Erik and Céleste are doing. ;)

Soliman? Well, I took his name from a sultan in the Ottoman Empire in the 16th century, and who became an ally for King Francis I of France against Charles Quint (though the alliance was pretty useless, so to say, because of the distance between France and the Ottoman Empire). And… ironically, contrarily to my character, he was known for his great sense of justice and he worked a lot on legislative matters… And for Pépé… Are you calling for reinforcements for Erik or for Clémence? ;) XD

Céleste does love her bros, you know, it's her family and she's not quite ready to just forget about them. You know, they aren't that bad; they just act and follow their conscience. And… for what I have planned, seriously, I think it will be really hard to hate Raoul at the end of this story. ;)

And I admit that for the relationship between Céleste and Clémence, I kind of inspired myself from Elsa and Anna. After all, Céleste is silvery blonde, Clémence is a red-head… ;) But here, it isn't quite a cool big sis/cute little sis relationship, because of their age, but more a cool aunt/niece relationship. I really do see Céleste inviting Clémence at her place, taking her to the attic, and letting her try some of her old hats and dresses… ;)

For what's going to happen next… Read the next chapter. ;)

(I admit I'm rather surprised you didn't make any comments about the dialog between Raoul and Christine… but anyway.)

Me, a medium? Maybe. Mwahahahaha.

**Phantom'sLilMiss:** Yup. POTO is awesome, LND sucks on certain points, OUAT is awesome, Elsa is gorgeous… And actually, I like weird names… but not for a serious POTO phic. ;) Thank you so much for your kind review! Gosh, they just really make my day… And I am going to insert the lyrics from Let It Go… Here and there… Well, you'll see. Mwahahaha.

**TheCrimsonPen: **I know, I'm sadistic… but I want to keep you guys reading. Mwahahaha.

**Question of the day: I'm actually working on something for my LJ and… I need your help. What do you generally think of Christine? I must say that I often see people's opinion about Erik and Raoul, but Christine… not so much, unless it comes to R/C shippers defending their point using Christine's character… So I'm calling especially to E/C shippers out there (if there are still some, I think I scared them off with my Raoul-supporter attitude)… what do you think of Christine?**

**And… I'll be sadistic. If you answer this question, you get to be in the army who's going to track down Soliman with… people. XD It won't be in the story, of course, but… you know, like a DVD extra. XD And yes, you'll all get swords. Or candy-guns. (I'M SOOO ASHAMED OF MYSELF… Okay, not so much.) (And note to a certain person: Yes, Raoul will go on cat-burglar mode. XD) **


	24. Chapter 23

**A/N: I've heard they're trying once again to bring LND to Broadway, and that they're going to change a few things a bit in the plot… like for example, someone else, and not Christine, is going to die. I kind of hope it's going to be Raoul, but not for the reason you think (so Erik and Christine can have their nice, cheesy ending): you know, Raoul taking the bullet for Christine, and Christine and him FINALLY forgiving each other and everything? That is definitely going to make me cry. I think I'm going to write a one-shot about that. For the cast, it's still uncertain: some rumors say they might bring the Australian cast (gosh, please, Andrew, LEAVE BEN LEWIS AND MARIA FERNANDEZ BEHIND WITH THE KOALAS AND THE KANGAROOS), some say Sierra Boggess and Hadley Fraser will come back as Christine and Raoul… and if the latter happens, I want Ramin to also come back. Honestly, as I already said, no one else should be allowed to touch **_**Till I Hear You Sing**_** and **_**The Beauty Underneath**_**. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23<strong>

"So what did happen?"

Céleste jumped at Erik's question. She knew immediately of what he was talking about. Yesterday, they hadn't come back on the subject; the two of them unconsciously wanting to stay in a good mood, especially after the little trick Clémence and Céleste had come up with. Today, the young lady had decided to show Erik the convent's library, installed especially for the girls. It was a rather peaceful place, especially with all the students away, and Céleste had thought that Erik would probably appreciate to find another place to calm down his agoraphobia in other places than the theater or his very small and cramped cell.

Erik had peered a bit around the books, remarking, with the shadow of his despicable crooked and mocking smile, that it was odd that there was no trace of those so popular gothic novels. Céleste had frowned, claiming that the nuns didn't let the girls read such nonsense, which had leaded to Erik declaring that he would probably suggest soon to Firmin and André to send the ballet rats at the convent for a week, and that it would probably just do them good… Céleste had giggled, to suddenly awkwardly stop… remembering what was their present situation.

Then Erik's question had come in.

Well, really, she had no reason to make such a fuss about it. Nothing much had happened, anyway. But it just made them realize that they still had no plan to get them out of trouble.

But Céleste refused to show any sign of uneasiness. As casually as she could, she shrugged:

"Nothing much. He just wanted to know when he could see me, and I just told him I was on a retreat to think about… all this, and that I didn't want to be annoyed in any way."

Céleste exhaled heavily. Yes, she had quite successfully (at least, she hoped so) convinced Soliman to stay away… just the time so Erik and she could find a solution to their problem.

"We have three weeks, then," she started carefully. "After that, the students will come back and… I'll have to go home…"

This was enraging, just not knowing what the future was! Not having any control on it!

_The Lord's ways are impenetrable. _

Never this sentence seemed so ironic.

"So…" started Céleste, trying to force in some sort of conversation, hoping that a little talk could maybe help to sort this out. "Have you thought of anything? You… you obviously can't go back to the Opera Populaire, while he is still in Paris… Maybe if you left the city at least for a few months…"

"Yes, that's all really nice," snapped Erik. "But what about you?"

"Me? Oh, I'll manage," Céleste replied, as cheerfully as she could. But it just sounded so false…

Goodness, she was usually so good to hide her feelings under a cover of coldness and composure, and when she was around Erik… it was just so enraging that she was totally unable to do so!

"Of course you will," answered Erik, sarcastically. "I bet I'll be back in five months and that meanwhile, you'll be just imprisoned in a harem in Persia."

Céleste paled, trying desperately to forget the future's horrible image. "Well… he did tell my brothers that he would settle in Paris…" She stopped. It was a glimpse of hope, but why did she even cling to it? Could she ever trust Soliman's word? Of course not. Was she desperate to the point of being so foolish? Céleste just wanted to hide six feet underground, especially when she felt Erik's harsh glare on her.

"Oh damn it! Now, you're even more illogical than I am in hard moments," he spat sarcastically.

In exasperation, he headed towards a divan in a corner of the library and, not caring for conventions, he collapsed on it indolently, laying down and throwing his head back. As he closed his eyes, his whole body seemed to settle down more and more, like if he was trying to forget for a moment all the worries to focus better. A lazy smile, quite surprising in such a moment, appeared on his lips (_which were really nice for the three quarters that could be seen of them, by the way… Wait, what? For God's sake, how dares he have so disturbingly nice… no, gorgeous lips?!_). Well, anyway, all this nonsense put aside (_Nonsense? Really? Oh, stop thinking about it!_), Céleste, despite her present situation which was more obvious than ever, couldn't hold a grin herself.

Really, _he_ should have been Shah! The pose was all there, and all he needed now was a more appropriate décor, with a few Eunuchs waving ostrich-feathered fans tirelessly!

"There is a solution," Erik finally said, quite unexpectedly, making Céleste jump. "But you won't like it."

"What is it?" she replied, exasperated. "I think at the point where we are, we'll be both willing to accept anything."

"Are you sure of this?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

"Yes, just… go on with it!"

"I could hide far away from Paris for a few months, until everything is clear… and you could come with me."

As silence settled itself, Erik finally opened his eyes and got up, sitting on the divan, leaning his chin on his fist, glaring at Céleste fixedly. He smirked, seeing her dumbfounded composure, and shrugged.

"See, I knew you wouldn't like it," he simply stated.

"Stop doing that," Céleste muttered, in a strangled voice.

"Stop what?" Erik replied, completely taken aback.

"Just stop… argh! Stop smiling like that! It's... simply unbearable!"

Immediately after shouting this last sentence, Céleste's eyes widened, as she finally seemed to realize what she had just said. _Oh no. This is bad. Really bad._

But Erik's smirk just became more devilish than ever.

"You want me to stop… it's because you like it!" He declared in triumph.

"What? No, no, I didn't say that!" Céleste cried.

"Of course you didn't, dear," Erik replied, his smile just widening dangerously by the second. "But you can't hide anything from the Phantom of the Opera. And just for your pleasure, I won't stop… And don't come and whimper at me the good old classic: "Oh, but what have I ever done to you?" I have a long list of those issues…"

"You… you…" was the only thing Céleste found to reply. By the name of all things holy, had she become suddenly dumb or what?

"And I'll also politely advise you that if we are to stay together for the next few months, if you don't want people's attention to drag itself towards us, you will have to be a lot more… tolerant," he continued.

"Wait a minute," Céleste snapped. "I never agreed to that. And why should _I _be tolerant?"

"To answer your last question, it's because I'm the man," Erik replied, enjoying Céleste lifting her eyes towards the ceiling to his answer. "So what's retaining you then?" Erik continued, his smile still there, but his tone suddenly bitter. "You're afraid of getting your brothers mad at you?"

Mlle de Chagny glanced at Erik for a moment, suddenly feeling very small… but vulnerable, never. He maybe had some gift for guessing her true feelings, until a certain point, but it wouldn't mean he would have any control on her. She stood, straighter than ever.

"Yes. Because I can conceive that you don't understand such a thing, but they're my family. And I love them. And I can't let them down like that. I'm sorry, Erik. But that's that."

She bit her lip, not even daring to look at Erik, trying desperately to find an example he would understand… and then it came to her.

"If you asked Antoinette to abandon Meg, and that she refused… you would understand, don't you?"

"I guess," he suddenly snapped. "So plan A won't work, as I can see."

"No." Céleste said, in a weak voice. "It won't."

"That leads us to plan B, then."

"Which is?" she gasped in surprise.

"Killing Soliman."

Erik had declared this so casually Céleste briefly thought she would never be able to breathe again.

"Really?" she finally found the courage to say.

"Oh, he knows a lot of my tricks, and he probably has an escort with him. It won't be easy. But I can do that." Another sort of smile had appeared on Erik's lips. And Céleste didn't like it at all. Really. Absolutely not.

"Erik… we can't just settle things like that," she attempted. "It's not right…"

"I'm sure you would be able to kill someone," Erik suddenly said.

"What? How… how dare you say such a thing?" Céleste shouted, horrified, and horrified even more knowing that she had thought of such a thing not so long ago...

"Oh please, don't come and tell me that it's only people like me who kill. Believe me… Just think of Ancient Rome. Probably you heard of the Christians being thrown to the lions? Why did thousands of people just come and see them die so horribly? Do you think I don't know that people just gather around the place when there's a public execution, even today, in France? Why do you think it's there? Hmm? Why? It's not just for justice! Justice is such a relative thing. No. It's also there… for your entertainment. Yes, some people don't deserve to die. But those who do… God just lets them wander on Earth."

"But there's divine judgment," declared Céleste, severely, determined at least not to let Erik blaspheme and to hide her growing uneasiness.

"Who cares?" he snorted. "They're dead anyway, and most of the time, they just carried out all the pain they planned to do."

"All right, so you're telling me… are you actually telling me you're taking God's place?" Céleste asked in disbelief.

"Maybe," Erik responded. "Actually, that's what I did all my life, anyway." His voice softened for the next sentence. "Maybe if I had control on everything, I would find happiness."

He breathed in deeply before continuing: "But I don't."

For a moment, Céleste thought she was going to fall on the ground in stupor. Did… did the infamous Phantom of the Opera just admitted that there were things beyond his control?

"Stop staring at me like that," Erik growled. "Remember yesterday, when we were singing together? Yes, together. Don't you know what happens to those who hear Erik's voice? They think, for a moment, they have reached heaven, without even needing the drowsiness given by morphine. But it's a lure. You're still on Earth, deceived by an Angel coming straight from Hell. You don't fight against it. Are you deaf? Certainly not, since you keep on being defiant like the fearless and stupid lioness that you are. Didn't you stop?" he asked, his voice becoming softer, almost serpentine, with hypnotic tones. "Didn't you stop to listen?"

Mlle de Chagny gulped before answering.

"I did hear it…"

"Then _why_ did you fight against it?"

Céleste lowered down her eyes, biting her lips, which only exasperated Erik even more.

"Stop being such a sissy." He snapped. "It may work with your brothers, but it doesn't work with me."

The irritated glare he received gave him a satisfied smirk, which only angered Céleste more.

"I didn't want to be dominated by it, that's all. I didn't want to be intimidated…" Goodness, she sounded like a spoiled child. Erik would certainly… No. Yes. "You would do the same if you were at my place, anyway," she finally said, in a firm voice. "Anyway…" she added. "It looks like I hurt your pride more than anything else."

Erik's harsh glance fell on her, and for a moment, Céleste wondered if they were going to shoot fire at her. It seemed like his whole body forbid him from doing so, just by seeing his tightened jaw and his long bony fingers clutching the divan almost frantically. But finally, he just said: "You're stupid."

Céleste didn't even need to wonder why he had told her that. It was simple enough to translate. _You're stupid of standing up to me like that. Don't you remember what the Daroga has told you? About that time where I was nothing more than a court assassin? Killing without a thought? Killing for the pleasure of a woman who was bored out of her mind in her harem and who couldn't find a better way to raise her son? _

Silence installed itself once again. Céleste closed her eyes, meditating for a moment on what Erik had told her since the beginning. Then finally, she gathered all her courage and asked:

"Why do you think I would be able to kill someone?"

Erik shrugged. "Because. I can feel it, that's all."

Céleste sighed. Oh, why, and how could Erik just seemingly read so well into her?

"Please… promise me you won't attempt to kill him."

"And why would I do that?" snapped Erik.

"Because. I know you would do that for me, if I asked you."

He did not reply. But by the way he was looking at her, Céleste knew he would keep his promise. Strange to say, but he would.

_For her. _

* * *

><p><em>Two weeks later<em>

The Opera house was in an uproar. And Meg Giry knew why.

Poor Léonce Reyer really didn't deserve what was happening to him. It had been two weeks since his nephew had seemingly vanished from the Earth's surface. Everyone had absolutely no idea of what had happened to him. Some whispered with fear the name of the Opera Ghost: but strangely, it had also been two weeks since his last note… Yes, O.G. was rather capricious, sometimes sending several notes per day and sometimes remaining silent for a week… but still, in a moment of the year where the Opera Populaire was extremely active, it was more than surprising that he remained silent.

Meg was of course aware that Alexandre Goutelin was hiding in their apartment. After her mother had scolded both of them, and tried to convince the Daroga to let Alexandre go, without success (goodness, she had found someone just as stubborn as Erik and unfortunately her mother… and herself… and also probably Céleste), Meg had to resign herself to the present situation. Well, it could have been worse. At least her mother had admitted to her, quite reluctantly, though, that Alexandre was a good boy, with a stable future, and not some stagehand just like the others, with only a pretty face which made quite a difference for ballerinas.

Thankfully, Meg Giry, despite her innocent appearance and reputation of being quite a chatterbox, was able to keep many secrets. Though her heart tightened to see Reyer, whom she knew since her childhood, having already a nervous nature, seemingly on the border-line to some epileptic fit, never she would reveal where Alexandre and, at the same time, the Daroga, were…

After all, Marguerite Giry was Antoinette's daughter! Yes, it was her chance to be, in secret, more than the little blonde cherubim or Christine's shadow…

This could pretty much resume everything that was running in Meg's head that night, while she was skipping back towards the ballet dormitory. She was just about to open the door that suddenly, a hand swiftly caught her and brought her back, and her cry for help was only deafened by the other hand stamped on her mouth.

Still unable to see her aggressor, she was thrown brutally into the chapel. Her eyes widened when she saw, in the dark, two brutes, of a foreign origin, and dressed in an oriental style, who headed towards the door to barricade it with a few chairs. It didn't take long for Meg to guess who was behind all this…

She turned around, finally freed of the hard grip that was retaining her until then, to see Soliman, impassible.

"May I know, Monsieur, what is the meaning of this?" Meg asked in the most courteous way she could, to leave no doubts about her total innocence.

"You know more than you let everyone else believe, Mademoiselle," Soliman declared, in a composed but severe voice. "And I believe it's useless to ask your Mama. Now, tell me. Where is the Daroga?"

Meg's eyes widened innocently. "Really, Monsieur? I don't even know of whom you're talking about. Ah yes!" Her hand flew to her mouth while her eyes widened even more, and she quickly signed herself. "That man who has the evil eye? We know him as the Persian, around here."

_Be a fool. Play the innocent that way. _

"I would rather think, Monsieur, that you would ask me where the Phantom of the Opera is. Anyway, I must say he's the oddity everyone here wants to see or at least hear. Just ask Monsieur Schmidt."

_Well, at least _he_'s not here to hear me. _

"Oh, but where you find the Angel of Death, you are sure to find Nadir Khan. And I know about your mother's relations with him."

Soliman slowly leaned towards Meg, who, this time, couldn't help trembling because of such proximity.

"Madame, I am disposed to be of the most amiable disposition possible if you accept to be cooperative."

"And why would I give in so easily?" she asked.

"Why do you think I had some of my bodyguards to join me?"

Slowly, Meg turned towards the brutes, and gulped, but lifted her chin slightly and had a very light smile, as a way to say: "Don't worry, I'll be brave." But fear was present in her eyes. But still, she found enough courage to say:

"If you want to torture me in some way, monsieur," she finally said, keeping a triumphal smile, "I will scream, I warn you. And my scream is piercing. Everyone will hear me."

"Nice try," Soliman replied with a smirk. "I know your good friend the vicomtesse de Chagny used to have her music lessons here. Her husband told me. So obviously… if you can't hear an opera singer sing, you certainly won't hear some ballet brat screaming either. Anyway…"

The feral expression his face took made Meg shiver, and even forget the tremendous ballet brat insult.

"There are some pains that don't even give you enough strength to scream."

The ballerina closed her eyes intently.

_I've always wondered what it was to be brave. _

_I remember I had asked myself that when I went across the mirror in the prima donnas' dressing room, on the night of _Hannibal_'s closing… _

_And I also asked myself that on the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_'s premiere, when I went down to the lair… _

_But I never got the chance to go to the end… There was always something that forbade me to. _

_Well, I guess that now, all I have to do is to accept to do the brave thing and be brave after. _

Meg Giry, when Soliman made a sign to one of his bodyguards, who seized a knife, closed her eyes tightly, determined not to flinch. She retained a sob as she felt the metal's cold embrace on her left arm' skin, as it was softly pressed against it, but in such a threatening way…

"Where is the Daroga?"

His despicable, reptilian voice only flushed bitterness into Meg.

"I don't know," she answered in a weak but proud voice.

The blade's iciness turned into burning as it slowly made its way in the ballerina's flesh. And she couldn't hold back a groan of pain.

_I guess I know what it is to be brave, now. _

She bit her lip hardly, and soon, the taste of iron… no blood, filled her mouth, making her even more nauseous as she felt at the same time drops of blood on her left arm.

"Where is the Daroga?" Soliman asked again.

"I don't know," Meg heard herself answer.

The blade only made itself more inquisitive, more curious to dig in her skin.

"Don't make her faint, and don't open her veins," she heard Soliman command. "She wouldn't be useful anymore."

_No, don't faint. You won't be useful to all your friends anymore._

"Where is the Daroga?"

"Where is the Daroga?"

"Where is the Daroga?"

Meg didn't know how much the Shah's brother had repeated this dreadful question, for the pain was only getting more and more intense. Even insupportable. She couldn't even feel the sweat dripping slowly on her forehead then her cheeks, mixed up with her tears of pain she had so desperately tried to retain earlier. But now, she simply didn't have the strength to do it anymore.

"Where is the Daroga?"

The fatal question came in again. She just had enough energy to look at Soliman, dumb, but with a little glimmer saying: "I won't tell you."

The slap landed on her cheek, not strong enough to let her drown into the benefits of inconscience, but still biting… Another blow came in… just strong enough to keep her alive and present. And another… and another…

"I'll tell you!" She finally yelled, though she didn't realize it was nothing more than a painful whisper.

_Forgive me… _

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm sadistic… Believe me; it was so hard for me to torture Meg like that… But hey… she has managed longer than Christine did, previously, and with even bigger pain… She disserves the hero tag, doesn't she? ;D**

**Answers to reviews: **

**Lydia the tygeropean: **I agree. ;) Like you, well… I don't really like Christine, but I don't hate her either. There are moments where I like her more than others, actually.

**PhantomFan01: **Quirky, that's the word. ;p And yes, Soliman sure has pluck. ;) In the bad way, unfortunately…

**TheCrimsonPen: **I don't like characters that "suffer" too much. Don't get me wrong, what I mean is, you know, the story of the school reject that no one ever sees but who's just so much actually and then the really hot guy comes in and turns her life around… Nice story, but it unfortunately doesn't really happen in real life because the hot guy is always on the b*tch team and it's just so over-used. And, well, Christine's daddy-issues have always annoyed me genuinely because it's the reason she gives herself so she won't ever stand up for herself.

I personally don't think Christine basically abandoned Erik because of his disfigurement. After all, she did say during the Final Lair: "This horrid face holds no horror to me now… It's in your soul that the true distortion lies." I believe it was her reason at the beginning, when she unmasked him for the first time. But not because she said: "Ew, he's ugly". It's just Christine really thought Erik was her dead father or an Angel. I think she had a bit of a crush for Erik-as-supernatural-creature (because, well, _Music of the Night _is just total seduction and he just entertains the magical aura he has built himself to enthrall Christine). And, by unmasking him, she just saw he was just a man, and a grossly disfigured one (I'm of course not talking about the movie), and who almost seemed close to killing her just because she had ripped his mask off. You know, it was a big major deception for her. And later, it only got worse since she saw that Erik would be willing to do anything to get her back. Even killing people. ;)

But yeah, Christine can be such a weak-willed little-lost-puppy kind of girl. But I must admit she had a good evolution in POTO: just in the end, she was ready to blow up her life to save Raoul…

I also liked Emmy Rossum! Well, okay, her voice wasn't the best (good for a sixteen-year-old girl whose voice won't fully mature before twenty-five, but still not extraordinary like some prodigies…), but of all the Christines I've seen, she's the closest to canon. Quite ironically, my ideal voice for Christine is Sierra Boggess' in LND… not POTO, where she had too much tremolos for my taste, but really LND. Her voice is just angelic.

**inujisan: **Awesome, ain't it? XD

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Oh dear… about Erik revering his own music and so in conclusion himself… He's the weirdest narcissist out there… XD And yes, though I'm a good Catholic, it's true that God is a quite relative thing, isn't He? *ducks away from thunder coming from Heaven*

I know what you mean about duets… *sigh* You're lucky of having taken singing lessons once! I wish I could… But I do sign in a choir, so… it's sort of compensates for.

Of course Erik doesn't need to warm his voice up. D'huh. *I'm outta here.* And loving Céleste… and she being snarky. Yup, that totally brought his voice back. XD

I know, I made a little mistake on the dates according to the book, since Louis X reigned from 1314 to 1316 (he was the son of Philippe IV le Bel, one of whom we call Rois Maudits), and Hugues Capet became king in 987… But hey, it makes a great story. ;P

Pépé? Never really annoyed me. I guess that after reading _Le ciel nous tombe sur la tête _and seeing the movies (not the animated ones, the ones they made recently… it could be funny, but it isn't the same light, cheerful and somehow prude humor as in the comics… So because of that, it isn't funny at all.), well, I'm prepared for anything.

I think I'll read _Waiting in the Wings_ as soon as I can. Because, well, I always thought it was ridiculous that Raoul didn't tell Christine about the bet. And anyway… Christine, honestly, how can you blame Raoul for taking Gustave? Just stop going paranoid with Erik and go after him, and settle things! (But unfortunately, it's Meg who took Gustave…)

Hmm, I can sense that you love Rory… ;D Honestly, I love him since _Let's Kill Hitler_, I fell hopelessly in love with him in _A Good Man Goes to War_, and he's in my top-5 best Who companions… Above him? Donna, Ace, Sarah Jane and Romana. Not too bad, hey? ;D And actually, I really believe Rory is Raoul's Who-counterpart. Just take his badass scene, where he blows up the Cybermen float. Replace him by Raoul. It works. XD

About the Phantom's never-ending love for Christine… I admit I have trouble with that since LND. I don't know, I don't think he would pine after her forEVER. I mean, fifty years. Gosh. Yes, he would for a certain time, but eventually, I think he would try to forget since it would be too painful and for fear of being dragged back into it… Well, that's how I analyze Erik. I rather tend to think that the rose with the ring is a sign of forgiveness, since the ring is there, and that he has definitely decided to make peace by giving up the only item he had of Christine…

About the West End cast who wouldn't have gone to Melbourne… Anna O'Byrne (who played Christine) comes from West End. So… Why not having the London cast in Australia? But I didn't know it was supposed to be a long-run…

I think Mother Marie-Anne really wants to give Erik his chance. If she tells the truth, he'll be lost forever…

I think Soliman meant to be there on purpose… And you know, I don't think he'll just do flattery to the novice… Not smug (HECK NO!), but you'll see… *See my evil grin*

Well… I think Erik would be indeed quite embarrassed of having Clémence unconscious on the floor while Céleste isn't there… If he was with someone else, I think he would have just let Clémence hold her breath, but it's Céleste here… Believe it or not, she does have a certain emprise on the infamous Opera Ghost! XD

Marguerite does come from the flower. And the flower was named because of its resemblance to a pearl. (Latin word _Margarita, ae, f._: the pearl. Latin can be useful. ;) ) ;)

Christine is actually a very Swedish name (Kirsten), only "French-ized" (And ironically, in the musical, Christine's name was originally supposed to be pronounced "CHRIStine" (like in Kristen) and not ChrisTINE. Already sounds more Scandinavian, so to say). "Daaé" actually sounds like a Dutch name. I'll have to do research. Erik is acceptable, since Christine stated in the book that "I asked him what was his nationality, and if the name of Erik didn't hide a Scandinavian origin. He replied to me that he had neither name nor patria, and that he had taken the name of Erik by hazard." "Je lui demandai quelle était sa nationalité, et si ce nom d'Érik ne décelait pas une origine scandinave. Il me répondit qu'il n'avait ni nom, ni patrie, et qu'il avait pris le nom d'Érik par hasard." And Meg… yeah, not very French. We can guess her full name is Marguerite, but it doesn't really fit her. Gosh, it's a mouthful.

I never understood why Raoul never talked to Christine about the bet. I mean, I think she would be able to forgive Raoul (though she would be mad at him at the beginning), but Erik? Gosh. Well, _Devil Takes the Hindmost _is the only part in LND where Raoul and Erik are in-character…

**What do I think of Christine? Well, she's a nice, kind-hearted girl, but honestly, I never really liked her (without hating her), and I only realized that when I actually started writing phanfic. And it's actually one of the reasons why I don't ship her with Erik. I mean, she can be so naïve, weak-willed and childish, and it can get so annoying sometimes. It's only at the end that Christine really got her moment of glory – blowing up her life to save Raoul. Actually, I think that POTO, contrarily to people who say that it's Christine's sexual awakening, is actually Christine becoming an adult… She has a quiet courage about her which reminds me of Sansa Stark… **

**And well, in every E/C phic I've read, when the author manages to keep Erik in-character (which means here: he isn't all fluffy and not-psycho-anymore), well, as a result, Christine has a spine, which means here: she's OOC. **

**So, that leaves me to wonder: do E/C shippers see Christine as some sort of everyman? Or do they ship E/C more as a matter of sympathy for Erik? (What do you guys think?) Some really like Christine for what she represents: innocence, purity, goodness. That's really what she is in Leroux, yes, but in ALW… she can get annoying with her: "Oh no… Oh don't… I can't do this…" Okay, I'm not telling her to do kung-fu either, but anyway… **

**This was all actually for an E/C analysis I'm preparing for my LJ… If you want the link for it, PM me… or better, leave a review! I'll send you the link… **

**So… review. ;) **

**And before I forget: Question of the day: Erik has stated that usually, no one resists to his voice's hypnotic proprieties… So why do you think Céleste is able to resist it? (Yes, there is a reason...) **


	25. Chapter 24

**A/N: I'm conscious that Napoleon III wasn't Emperor anymore in 1872 (we're actually in January 1872 in my story). But movie-POTO, on which **_**Let It Go **_**is based, happens in an alternate universe, because anyway, in 1870, the time where the movie takes place, France was at war with Prussia, and Paris was assieged. So I don't think there would be any productions at the Opera Populaire at that moment… So in this AU, France won against Prussia, and Napoleon III is still Emperor. ;) **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24<strong>

Conscience is a very relative thing.

Some went their own way. Others required a priest, so they could just reveal to him all their secrets, especially the ones they would never dare to say, knowing the sacred secrecy of confession would forbid the priest to reveal them to anybody, and so he could simply tell them what to do, forbidding them from taking any decision by themselves…

So went the world. Quite the contrary of what Christ has instituted, confession being a way of reconciliating with God than to prove someone's own weakness.

Hélène Gaulthier knew she couldn't talk about it to the convent's aumonier. He would simply advise her to obey the Mother Superior. But constantly, now, she could hear in her heart an almost sacrilegial whisper.

_Mother Marie-Anne is wrong. _

It seemed almost as horrible as saying that God could be wrong. The kind of thought that would have brought you to the pyre in less merciful times.

He had just seemed so sad. He needed to talk about his pain. And she simply didn't have the courage of telling him to go away.

On their first meeting, he had simply excused himself from looking so insistive, and had simply stated that she reminded him of someone who had once been dear to him.

Then, slowly, he had told his story.

Hélène had managed to be in the front courtyard once in two days. He was there. He would reveal his story, little by little. He would talk of his former fiancée, how wonderful she was in her own special way. About how she had been so brutally taken away from her. He had also revealed to her that whom they called the Angel of Death in Persia, the one who had destroyed his one love, was also the man hiding beneath the Opera Populaire under the cover of the Phantom.

It was then that Hélène's mind started to torture her.

Yes, she heard constantly about forgiveness, repentance… but those things are easier talked about than really done.

And this time, divine justice didn't seem on Mother Marie-Anne's side.

"I did succeed in rebuilding my life, though… Mlle de Chagny, who is actually having a retreat here, is considering my…"

But already, Hélène didn't listen anymore.

_She had to tell him. She had to. _

"Oh, please, if only you knew!"

She had almost screamed in the winter breeze. It had seemingly worked like what we would call today some electric shock, for Soliman immediately lifted his head.

"What's the matter, mademoiselle?" he asked with concern.

"Please… you must protect your fiancée. At any cost."

"What do you mean, mademoi –"

He didn't need to finish, for the truth seemingly struck him violently. He grasped her heads, his eyes pleading.

"Please… just tell me where he is… I beg you! I have to take her away from him…"

"I can't… I promised…" she almost cried.

"Who made you promise? _Him?_" he asked in pure distress.

"No! The Mother…"

"She… she's his accomplice?"

By a childish impulse, Hélène's hands flew to her ears, refusing to hear more of what seemed to her the horrible truth.

_Mother Marie-Anne is wrong. _

_She's wrong. _

"Please… she probably knows nothing…" she muttered.

Softly, Soliman took Hélène's cold hands in his, squeezing them gently.

"He's hiding here, isn't he? Could you tell me where he is?"

As he saw her still hesitating, he whispered, even softer than ever.

"Do this to help me… to help us…"

His voice lost a bit of its distress, as it took a more adult and reassuring tone.

"What if I came tomorrow night… you show me where he hides for sleep, I manage to keep him from doing any harm and I get Mlle de Chagny out of here while we still can… Will that be fine?"

Hélène nodded, too numb to even hesitate more. But her heart warmed up when she heard Soliman saying, with effusion: "Thank you! I will be so ever grateful!"

But certainly, her despair would have been greater if she had seen Soliman's face when he headed towards the convent's gate.

* * *

><p>"I think you're just about to tell me to stop smiling as well."<p>

Erik muttered something under his breath, while Céleste only beamed more.

She had a rather good reason for such a thing – after all, the minute Erik had discovered that Gregorian music had a different notation, Céleste had immediately proposed to teach him the bases. Erik had agreed… but the young lady, a few minutes later, made the rather malicious remark that she was teaching something to the Phantom of the Opera… And since then, well, it was hard to keep a smile, and just annoying Erik with it.

Sensing that he was starting to get too annoyed, and, at the same time, unreceptive, Céleste juged wise of changing subject for a while.

"I think I have an idea."

Erik lifted up his eyes lazily, like if he was ready to pay attention to something else as soon as he would have the tiniest bit of evidence that what was going to be proposed would be useless, for he knew exactly of what she was going to talk about.

"Go on."

"I could tell my brothers I found myself a religious vocation during my retreat, and enter this convent. Of course, Mother Marie-Anne would be aware that I'm not here to stay. You could go away from Paris, at least for some time, and until Soliman finally leaves…"

"You honestly think he'll just accept your vocation?" snapped Erik. "Well, you do seem predestined to it anyway and…"

Céleste's heavy sigh interrupted him.

"Unless he's looking for trouble with the authorities, I don't think he'll try to kidnap me here while I'm there supposedly as a nun. Anyway, if he couldn't find you here, he certainly won't be able to find me. You know how much the convent can be a maze."

Erik nodded as evidence struck him. But still, Céleste could feel he wasn't entirely satisfied. And she could guess a bit too well why.

"You can't just keep control on everything, you know," she grumbled.

For a moment, Erik's eyes seemed to become even more golden than ever, almost like if they were flames. "And why not?" he growled.

"Because life just goes on like that," Céleste shrugged, retaining a strangely cynical amused smile. "Some things get out of control. I know that well enough."

For a moment, Erik stared at her, his face unreadable. "What _do you_ know of life, anyway?"

"Enough," Céleste simply answered.

"I still think that you coming with me is a better idea."

"I don't see how. But we'll have to find a way soon. There's not even a week left for us, and we haven't even decided what to do about all this. Anyway, it's almost eleven o'clock in the evening, and we should have been in our cells a long time ago."

Without further ado, she got up from her chair, imitated by Erik, and the two of them headed towards the library doors, then the many corridors, until they arrived in front of Erik's cell. Céleste wished him good night, and then went towards hers…

But she certainly didn't expect to stumble across someone, especially at that hour…

"Oh, excuse me," Céleste muttered, annoyed, but curious of knowing the identity of the intruder. It was only when she saw the extreme trembling of the person in front of her that concern replaced her initial bother.

"Are you all right?" she asked, screwing up her eyes to try to see better in the darkness. "Oh, Sister Hélène! Is there something wrong?"

Banging made itself heard in a cell. Quickly, Céleste headed towards the noise, to hear that it was coming from Erik's room…

"What's going on?" she started to panic. "Erik! Erik!" she shouted, knocking on the door. "Answer me, please!"

"Oh, this is all my fault!" she heard a voice scream behind her. Céleste turned towards it, to see that Sister Hélène had collapsed on the floor, rolling herself in some sort of protective ball.

"Sister, please, for Heaven's sake, tell me what's going on!" Céleste begged, the novice's hysteria becoming more and more contagious.

"Forgive me, mademoiselle," Sister Hélène sobbed, "but because of me, your fiancé is getting killed by… by that demon!"

"Who?" Céleste yelled, in disbelief, not paying attention to the sisters slowly getting out of their cells in curiosity or annoyance, after hearing all that racket. But soon, truth struck her in the face. "Soliman?"

Sister Hélène nodded frantically. "Of course! Who else?"

Quickly, Mother Marie-Anne cleared her way among the group of nuns present, and immediately headed towards Céleste. As soon as the young novice saw her superior, her tears only became stronger.

Then, it was little Clémence's turn to get out of her room, and to rush towards Céleste.

"Clémence, don't stay here!" panicked Céleste. "It's…"

She didn't have time to finish her sentence, since, almost at the same time, the door of Erik's cell slammed open. And Soliman, followed by two – no, three Oriental brutes firmly holding a struggling Erik, got out.

"Just let Mlle de Chagny come to us," the Shah's brother immediately declared, "and no harm will be made to any of you."

Immediately, a few nuns gathered around Céleste, forming a human barrier. But the young lady said, in a firm voice:

"No. I shall follow him."

Delicately, she pushed a weeping Clémence away, and stroked her read hair as a sign of goodbye, while Mother Marie-Anne and the other nuns lowered their heads in painful resignation, reciting in their minds a quiet prayer. Proudly, like if she was defying Soliman, she headed towards him.

"Do you at least permit me, Monsieur, to gather a few things?"

"You'll manage without them," Soliman replied coldly. "Now, just come."

Her head still high, without showing any reluctance, contrarily to Erik, still struggling like a devil in a stoup and letting out a cry of rage from time to time, she followed them, not knowing at all what was awaiting them.

* * *

><p>"You… take cloth."<p>

Meg lifted up her head almost timidly. For the first time in her entire life, she was almost afraid of moving. When her guard, who had been as motionless as he was expressionless, had handed her a surprisingly clean handkerchief, she wondered, for a moment, if she was dying, and if the guard turned out to be the angel sent by God to take her to Heaven.

Since that dreadful evening where she was forced to tell the Daroga's (and Alexandre's) hiding place, Meg often wondered if she had left Earth for Hell. Many times, her former courage all gone, for she had no energy to show more of it, she had begged for her freedom, promising she would tell no one, not even her mother, but it was no use. She was prisoner. And condemned to see everyone get imprisoned themselves under Soliman's grasp.

With a very weak smile, Meg took the handkerchief, and wrapped around her badly bandaged injured arm, just after ripping off the thin and impratical cloth which had covered it before.

"Thank you, Monsieur," she said gently.

"Darius," the guard answered. Meg smiled. After all, it never took much for Little Giry to simply beam.

Since Darius seemed rather sympathetic, the ballerina almost wanted to start a conversation with him, but since his use of French seemed rather limited, she remained silent. And so she waited, in the sort of trailer where she was kept.

Finally, after she didn't know how much hours, the door opened, a quick slap made itself heard, a cynical laugh, then, to Meg's great surprise, Céleste de Chagny entered the trailer like if she was entering in a castle to meet the King, her head high and proud, her features indecipherable.

"I can go in by myself, thank you very much," she simply said, grimly.

In the semi-darkness, Céleste, near the guard, saw a little silhouette sitting on the ground, whose face turned towards her, and immediately, she recongnized the little cherub-like face.

"Meg?" Céleste asked in disbelief.

"Céleste…" Meg replied, tears in her eyes and in her voice,

Finally, the three brutes who were holding Erik entered the trailer, their captive always struggling, while Soliman simply ordered: "Chain him. No need to tie him like you will do with the ladies, or he'll find a way to tie the ropes off."

And so they did.

When finally, the guards, at the exception of Darius, and Soliman got out, a jolt gave them sign that they were leaving the convent. To where, they had no idea.

For long minutes, everyone remained silent, not daring of talking of anything like if they were afraid of some explosion.

And surprisingly, it was Erik who broke the silence.

"I certainly didn't expect to see you here," he said in Persian to Darius. "What happened since I last saw you?"

"Well, when the Daroga ran away with you, I stayed behind. And I just changed masters, that's all," the guard replied. "We all did."

Silence installed itself again. Céleste looked at Erik, who had walled himself into a heavy stillness, similar to some panther caught in chains. To talk to him meant suicide… sort of. Now, chained like he was, he couldn't do much anyway.

She turned to Meg, and finally, saw her bandaged arm.

"Goodness, what happened?"

The ballerina didn't reply. "I'm sorry," she simply said, tears running on her cheeks.

"Why are you sorry?" Céleste asked, perplexed. "You didn't know where we were."

"Not you," Meg said, in a painful whisper.

It was only then that Erik seemed to react, as he, and also Céleste, guessed the truth.

"Damn you, woman!" he hissed. "Couldn't you shut your big mouth, you ballet brat!?"

Meg's eyes went from shame to a fury quite unimaginable in her case.

"Don't you ever call me a ballet brat again. And believe me; they should have just opened my veins instead of torturing me like that." She broke into sobs again. But this time, angry ones.

"But of course," Erik snapped. "If they had just killed you, probably Nadir would have been able to help us."

"Oh, do shut up!" Céleste shouted, exasperated.

"Why should I shut up?"

"Because seething about all this certainly won't help us!"

"I never said it would."

At that moment, the trailer's door opened, and two guards shoved in not only the Daroga, but also Alexandre.

"And what is _he _doing there?" Erik asked coldly, pointing young Goutelin with his chin.

"He discovered I was there, thanks to Mlle Giry," Nadir replied.

Erik's harsh glare fell upon Meg again, while the ballerina and Alexandre blushed furiously, and then went to Céleste when she dared to clear out her throat quite loudly.

"Caught them scrubbing the floor," one of the guards said, in a French tinted with a heavy accent. The others, guessing of what he had talked about, chuckled, as they closed the door. Then the trailer shook again, indicating them that they had gone.

"You were scrubbing the floor… at this hour?" Céleste asked, startled. "Why were you scrubbing it anyway?"

"Mme Giry asked us to do that before tomorrow." Alexandre answered, shrugging. "She said we had to get ourselves useful. But we forgot. You know, when he's not pointing a gun at you, and he's not complaining about his headaches," He added, pointing the Daroga with his chin, "he can have a really interesting kind of conversation."

"Oh please," Erik sniffed, "don't tell me he actually ranted about those headaches of his…"

"Do you realize I actually started having them when I first met you?" Nadir snapped.

"Hmm," was the resume of Erik's concern.

But soon, they all felt the trailer coming to a stop. When finally, the door was opened, and that Céleste was the first to be taken out, the sight that presented itself to her made her truly believe she was in the middle of a bad dream…

"This cannot be…" she muttered. "What are we doing here?"

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><p><strong>AN: Cliffie! I'M EVIL, SEE MY GRIN! **

**Answers to reviews: **

**TheCrimsonPen: **Isn't _There in Light and Back in Darkness _the best. Title. Ever? XD

**PhantomFan01: **Meg rocks! And don't worry, I hate unhappy endings, so… yeah. ;p

**Lydia the tygeropean: **It's sure it's hard to tell when you're not an Erik/Christine shipper… I think I scared away all E/C shippers with this story, unfortunately. XD And I think I'm a bit of an underdog also from time to time… ;)

**michellecarriveau: **Thank you so much! I hope to hear more of you! Well, I don't know if I'll do a _Frozen_/POTO crossover (though it would be awesome, because, well, when you think of it, the Elsa/Erik pairing really works. They both know what it is to be considered as monsters, and while Erik is clinging desperately to whom or what he loves, even if that means killing for it, Elsa, on the contrary, draws back and hides. Just imagine the story that can come out of it). I thought of mixing it with _Once Upon a Time_ (the TV series), but it just became insanely complicated. But I'm seriously thinking of a POTO/OUAT crossover, because Erik is a character with so high potential in those series. I really hope Kitsis and Horowitz will bring him in one day! And… not in an E/C pairing. Not because I don't ship them, but really, they should try doing something original and pair him with another fairytale character. So… here's my rant about crossovers. XD

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **About Christine's evolution towards Erik's disfigurement and feelings, I totally agree with you.

Well, Céleste managed to make Erik wait a whole day because, well… No idea. Stupid me.

It is quite ironic that Erik "doesn't approve of Gothic novels" while he's the tortured character of a gothic novel himself! XD Well, back then, among teenage girls, gothic novels were the latest trend (a bit like freaking _Twilight_), and though there were a few good ones among them (for example _Wuthering Heights_), there was A LOT of trash. So overhearing the ballerinas talking about it… he doesn't have too high of an opinion about them… ;)

We had a divan in our library, and our school belonged to very conservative nuns… The divan was actually a donation, if you want, and they put it there since they had no other place… We weren't aloud to sit on it, except when no one was there… and that was most of the time. XD

Erik did have this idea in mind, of course, but he knew Céleste wouldn't approve it at all. He tried to think of other ideas, but since nothing seems to come in, well, he has to spit that out. ;)

A man being nagged by his wife isn't really surprising… but he doesn't want that to happen to him, and especially not when the wife in question is Céleste. And writing macho!Erik is just so much fun. XD

Yeah, Meg would so be able to leave her mother like that… but Céleste isn't totally aware of Meg-the-rebel, unfortunately… for example, she doesn't know about Alexandre. XD

Céleste is more shocked at the idea that Erik implied that he could kill Soliman in a very calm and casual way, and even more when he implied that she could kill him. She knows that she could do that – but you don't want other people to guess that, no? ;) And she's surprised that Erik actually saw that in her. And, even in order of self-defense, Céleste doesn't want Erik to kill Soliman: he has quite enough deaths on his account…

Soliman certainly won't let Meg wander around the Opera house after torturing her: the first thing she'll do is warning her mother, who may just have direct contact with the Daroga and the Phantom… And the main reason why Soliman chose to attack Meg rather than Mme Giry is that the first is seemingly more malleable…


	26. Chapter 25

**A/N: Finally updated this phic, corrected all the grammar mistakes… wow. I put a little poem at the beginning, and I changed the bit where Céleste sings in Chapter 4 the very beginning of **_**I Dreamed a Dream**_**, for many reasons… I replaced it by an extract of **_**Werther, **_**where the role of Charlotte is sung by a mezzo… But since we are in 1870, and that this opera was finished in 1885, I obviously can't use that… So I created a new version of **_**Werther**_**, closer to Goethe's novel, with a totally invented composer. Seriously, immortal and most prudent Charlotte does make me think of Céleste, sometimes, for her strength of character… And Erik? Well, he's Werther, of course! **

**And by the way, those of you who think Gerard Butler sucks as a singer, to you, I answer: go and listen to Steve Harley. This guy was originally supposed to be the first Phantom, and the **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** music video with Sarah Brightman (which you can easily find on Youtube) had him, and not Michael Crawford, in it. But Andrew Lloyd Webber finally realized he sucked so much he fired him without giving him any reason… So go and listen to Steve Harley singing **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** in the music video, and listen to him singing **_**The Music of the Night**_**. Let's just say he helped me appreciate Michael Crawford a lot more, and compared to him, Gerard Butler is a perfectly decent singer. Really. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25<strong>

"Well, doctor?" Raoul asked anxiously.

"Don't worry, monsieur," he answered calmly. "Simply, I must tell you that…" the doctor took a deep breath before continuing. "Things are getting a bit… complicated. The baby isn't on the right side. By now, he should have his or her head at the bottom, but he or she is still in the same position."

Raoul's eyes widened. He had trouble understanding what the doctor meant, since, well, babies and all those things were more women matters, to be frank… but he knew well enough this was all serious business.

"Is it… critical, doctor?"

"No, well, not if you follow my instructions carefully. And anyway, your midwife has already faced situations similar to this and even worse. Only, your wife is young and… not very strong, so to say. I believe you will still be able to have more children after this… but don't expect a dozen."

A bitter-sweet grin appeared on Raoul's face, as he remembered that time when Christine and he were about seven years old, and that he had asked her in marriage, a few days after getting her red scarf for her. Just before, he had caught the cold of his life, and when he was finally allowed to go out, he had very solemnly (yes, very solemnly) made his demand, sneezing three times during the process. And Christine had replied, in her high-pitched, bell-like voice: "Yes, but only if we can have ten children."

Then, Daddy Daaé had had one of those big, joyful laughs that absolutely nothing could stop, and to which Christine and Raoul couldn't guess why it came in. But it was such a beautiful thing to hear…

Oh well.

"Now," continued the doctor, "she has to stay in bed until she gives birth. If she can move, it shall be only for the strict necessary. And no useless emotions."

Raoul nodded as the last sentence fell on him like thunder. Christine and he were still the only ones who knew all the drama happening in their family, an invisible one, but still present. They had both been more than reassured when Soliman, one day, had said quite openly that he had just visited Céleste in her convent. What had happened to the Phantom, of course, they didn't know. While Raoul was quite shamelessly reassured, though he strangely hated to admit it to himself, Christine only worried more and more… and the vicomte knew all about it.

And everything was getting quite unbearable, so to say.

He had the certitude that he had Christine's love, of course. But he had to confess that he had trouble understanding why she worried so much about her former tormentor, though he did have a few glimpses of the reason…

_All is left is acceptance, I guess. _

Just before opening Christine's door, Raoul couldn't help giggling a bit of himself. This misplaced jealousy, which had no reason of being, was ridiculous, compared to so many other things.

He thought of his sister's marriage, for a moment.

He had to tell Philippe everything, and fast.

Well, he couldn't do that. Not with the references he had as a proof.

"Well?" Christine asked softly, her curly hair, her big fawn-like eyes and her ruby lips being the only spots of color in the sea of white she was plunged in.

"You have to rest," Raoul simply said, remembering that she shouldn't be troubled in any matter. "Don't worry about anything, Christine. Please."

The vicomtesse nodded her head in quiet submission, with a weak smile, like a child who had just been sent to bed without supper. Slowly, she got up, sitting in her bed, despite Raoul's quiet tongue-snapping about her moving too much to his taste, and, softly, lowered her head on her husband's shoulder.

After minutes that seemed like hours, a nervous knock on the door made itself heard. Gesturing gently to Christine to lie down to rest, Raoul got up and headed towards the entrance, to see Philippe, looking worried – no, worried wasn't strong enough of a word, distressed, maybe, like he hadn't been since… since… never, actually. Philippe never seemed to panic for anything. Signaling as calmly as he could to his elder brother to get out, so Christine wouldn't be alarmed about anything (especially that he could guess pretty well what it was all about), Raoul closed their room's door behind him, and immediately, the two brothers headed towards the living-room.

And when the young vicomte saw Soliman, he wondered – quite dramatically, he would admit later with a bit of shame – how the end of the world was like.

"What happened?" Raoul asked, a bit more impulsively than he would have permitted himself.

"I… went to the convent early this morning…" started Soliman, searching for his words for the first time, "and it was all in an uproar. They said that _he_ has abducted her…"

_What a flawless actor you are, _Raoul couldn't hold himself from thinking.

He knew the truth, of course. At least part of it. It was easy to guess that things had turned sour not only for Erik, but also for Céleste…

Where was she, now?

He trembled at the very thought of it.

"I still can't believe you haven't warned the police," Philippe added, exasperated.

"The first thing I did was to run to your home!" yelled Soliman. "And anyway, to be honest, your French police are composed with nothing more than incompetent fools!"

_Of course, _Raoul forbid himself from saying.

"Anyway," continued the Shah's brother, "if we warn the police, they will all come in an uproar, and the Angel of Death will be aware of it. And for him, escaping them will be nothing more than a piece of cake."

"So what are we to do?" Philippe asked, with a frustrated smile.

"We'll start by the Opera house, of course." Soliman said.

"He can't have brought her there!" cried Raoul, determined to break the Shah's brother's shield. "It's too easy!"

"Exactly. And anyway, with all those traps, he thinks he's safe. But he doesn't know that I remember how all of them work."

"How do you know about them, anyway?" Raoul continued. For a very, very brief moment, so brief only the vicomte saw it, Soliman's murderous glance fell on him. But quickly, he gained back a sort of assurance.

"We were to use them in war, for embuscades. There were still in an experimental state, and my brother and I were taught to their secrets. He probably thinks I forgot all about them – but he's wrong."

"Now, stop discussing and let's go!" Philippe yelled, his irritation getting more and more intense, to a point Raoul was almost concerned for his sanity. Well, it wasn't the behavior of a madman, of course, not at all… but he had never seen his older brother like this before.

Because, well, despite all misunderstandings that came in from time to time, the Chagnys would have done anything for each other.

It was a matter of minutes before Philippe and Raoul were ready. The vicomte didn't even dare to kiss Christine good-bye, for he was afraid of worrying her out of her mind, something that she absolutely didn't need in such a context.

But he was aware, during their short journey to the Opera Populaire, of Soliman's watchful glare on him.

_Hand at the level of your eyes. _

Mme Giry's contralto voice seemed to invade him as they strolled towards their destination.

But now, the big villain's name wasn't the Phantom of the Opera anymore.

For now, he seemed more like some lamb captured by the slaughterer.

The big villain's name was Soliman, now.

And the only strange satisfaction Raoul could give himself was that Soliman was with him, and not Christine.

* * *

><p>"Maybe we could… sing a song…"<p>

Meg blushed furiously after this statement, especially when Erik's harsh glance fell on her. She had no idea why she had said such a thing – only, the silence had become so heavy it was simply unbearable, now.

"Ah yes, let's sing _Au Clair de la Lune_ so we can forget all this bloody mess. » Erik snapped.

"Oh please, it will just help us not to fall into insanity," Céleste replied, trying very hard to ignore Erik's use of bad words. "Just forget everything… just for a while."

"Anyway, we can all sing, can't we?" asked Meg. "Daroga? Alexandre?"

Nadir retained a chuckle at the idea of him singing, for such a thing had never even crossed his mind, so to say. But Alexandre, on the other side, blushed.

"I can't even sing a note right."

"Oh please, Alexandre, it's just for fun!" begged Meg, with starry eyes that seemed to make the young Goutelin blush even more. "And the acoustics are great, here!"

"You can say that again," muttered Erik, ignoring Céleste glancing at him again.

"Well, if you saw the good side of life a bit more often like Meg does, maybe your life would improve," the young lady snarked.

"I – "

"Oh, do shut up!" cried the Daroga.

The so-dreaded heavy silence installed itself again.

Céleste, for a moment, closed her eyes, trying to forget the tight ropes on her wrists and ankles, which forbade her of any kind of movement. Meg, Alexandre and the Daroga were in the same state as she was, while Soliman had judged that only chains would be enough to handle Erik.

She tried to forget her shock, when, as soon as she had gotten out of the trailer, she had seen, despite the darkness of the night, the Opera Populaire standing in front of her. She had asked restlessly questions about the meaning of everything, receiving no answer from anyone, until they were brought to the chapel, than to the secret passageway that lead to Erik's underground home. Céleste had shivered, and still shivered at the idea that now, Soliman had sort of violated Erik's sanctuary. It was a strange feeling, and she couldn't explain why it was there… but still, she remembered her first impression when Erik had brought her in his lair, and now that it had turned in a gloomy prison, Soliman's only intrusion seemed to have brutally cleared away all the magic, despite the candles still lighting everywhere.

* * *

><p>"The chapel's door is locked… it cannot be…"<p>

Soliman shook the door, but it was no use.

"We have no choice," he said, turning towards Raoul and Philippe. "It's the only way we know, and we'll have to force the door…"

"Are you looking for this, Monsieur?"

The three men immediately turned around, to see Mme Giry, staring at them, a set of keys in her hands, her lips tight, standing even straighter than ever.

"Madame, please, open the door…" started Philippe.

"I will, Monsieur, when Monsieur the patron will tell me where my daughter is," snapped the ballet mistress.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Madame," started Soliman calmly.

"Oh, really?"

"Perhaps, Madame, you prefer I inform the police of your complicity with the Opera Ghost? The fact that you have helped the vicomte on the night of the great fire might have saved you from justice, but now, you have nothing to defend yourself… unless you open the door."

This was starting to get a bit too much to bear for Raoul.

"Soliman, please. Mme Giry has been like a mother for Christine, and like you said, she helped me and saved us, Christine and myself. You can't – threaten her like that!"

He sounded like a fool. But he couldn't care less.

"Madame, please," continued Soliman, his voice almost pleading. "Perhaps… maybe your daughter is down there as well…"

"She wouldn't –"

"How do you know? If you want to see her again, this might be your only chance…"

Philippe, or an ordinary observer would have seen nothing more than a man trying to help a mother to find her disappeared daughter. But Mme Giry, and even Raoul could feel all the threat in this simple sentence.

And, with a mournful look, the ballet mistress seized her keys, and opened the chapel's door, leading like a sleepwalker the three men towards the wall which hid the secret tunnel to the undergrounds.

And this time, Antoinette Giry would have to go to the end.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes, this chapter doesn't have much action in it, but the next one will, I promise! **

**Answers to reviews: **

**PhantomFan01: **Don't ya like me cliffhangers? *I'm outta here*

**michellecarriveau: **Sorry, but looks like you've got a sadistic author on the loose! Mwahahaha! Well, sorry if I say a spoiler, but…

*IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE LAST EPISODE OF SEASON 3 of OUAT, DON'T READ WHAT FOLLOWS*

*I'VE WARNED YOU*

Elsa does appear in the last episode of season 3, and what I've read about her is that she's going to be some sort of villain, but more a misunderstood character. So why not bring in Erik also? Seriously, I think I'm going to write a POTO/OUAT crossover. Seriously. Maybe not soon, but eventually. ;)

*END OF SPOILER*

And yeah, I agree with you. Erik and Christine had their chance and they blew it.

**inujisan: **You can say that again. XD

**TheCrimsonPen: **Because I'm evil. MWAHAHAHA!

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Isn't it? Thanks for your opinion! ;)

**EvaAuthor: **Hey! Are you the one who asked me in marriage in my "What not to do in POTO list"? ;P

Well, yes, Meg is innocent and pure, but she isn't as naïve as Christine is, and for what we have seen of her, she's strong-willed and intelligent. Seriously, the Erik/Meg pairing is just so underated… (obsession, guys, I'm obsessed, I need help) Some think it's random to pair Erik with Meg just so the former can get his happy ending, and I understand why… but one thing that has always bugged me genuinely since the very first time I saw the movie, and way before I actually became a Merik shipper, was Meg being the first to enter the lair and finding the Phantom's mask. The musical and more especially the movie are both so symbolic that I can't believe it's nothing more than a hazard…

But hey, thank you so, so much for your kind review! You know, it's just the kind of thing that brings me a rather stupid smile on the face. I mean, seriously, Elsa/Erik rocks. ;)

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **I mean, seriously… teaching something about music to the Phantom of the Opera himself… XD And Gregorian music is always, always religious, so I don't think Erik would have ever touched that. Well, according to Kay, his mother was a good Catholic, and since she couldn't even get out of her house because of her child anymore, the village priest would come at their home and say Mass, so Erik did attend Mass when he was a little boy… but then again, it couldn't have been a High Mass (or a sung mass, if you prefer), so it was a Low Mass, and then… okay, Erik never actually had the occasion of studying Gregorian music, and it mustn't have been his priority either, so to say…

If you play a musical instrument, you can actually bring it with you – well, it depends which order you enter, but you can. For example, Saint Therese of Avila, who reformed the Carmelite order, actually encouraged her nuns to theater and music during their recreations. And that's in 1550, in Spain… Well, nothing profane, of course, but still. And since Céleste *could* eventually change her mind (not just on the mental/vocational plan, but because of an illness or something like that, they can send you back in the world), it's better that her possessions don't all go away…

And yes, Erik is partly not agreeing because it's not his idea, because he's an obsessed micro-manager mastermind, but also… he wants to keep an eye on Céleste… partly because he's an obsessed micro-manager mastermind, and for another reason… that I will not explain because I think everyone including you knows what it is… XD

Darius "is" the Daroga's servant… only, he isn't quite the same character as in Leroux/Kay… Both way, he appears for like ten seconds and gets even less character development than the freak trio in LND, so… I kind of gave him a bit of backstory and adapted his character for this story. ;)

The trailer is supposed to be some sort of "closed" wagon. I just had no idea how I could call it since I need coffee and more sleep…

About "talking to Erik meant suicide… He couldn't do much anyway", it simply means… don't talk to Erik when he's in a very, very, VERY bad mood. But he's chained, so… at least he can't strangle you or anything… XD

So Soliman knew that Erik was certainly with Céleste, and she was in the convent. The Daroga… maybe, maybe not. But he had a suspicion that the Girys, being accomplices with Erik, would know something. He started out with Meg, since Antoinette is probably a lot less easy to torture, so to say… at least in appearance. But Soliman wanted to have the Daroga and Erik all at the same time… for very twisted reasons that will be revealed not in this chapter, but in the next one.

**And question of the day: Actually, for the next few chapters, I'm going to ask you to um… ask me a question! It can be about this phanfic, it can be about POTO-universe, it can be about my life… everything you want (well, almost everything, of course)! **


	27. Chapter 26

**A/N: I officially announce that my next phanphic will be **_**Don Juan Triumphant**_** retold… Still thinking of the title, though. Ideas? :)**

**And now… just saying that you might hate me in the upcoming chapters. Or not. It's up to you to see. Just saying. **

**And hey, there's less than a month before Series 8 of **_**Doctor Who**_** air. Yay! I miss Matt Smith, I wasn't ready for him to go, but… I'm pretty sure Peter Capaldi will be an awesome Doctor! Anyway, I was never disappointed by any Doctor, Classic or Revival, so… **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26<strong>

As they all came in on a side of the cave, the passage shown by Mme Giry permitting them not to be obliged to cross the lake, the ballet mistress showed a moment of hesitation before entering, and breathed in loudly. But then, gripping her cane more tightly, she was going to enter first, until Soliman immediately rushed to her and blocked her by placing himself straight in front of her in order to get into the lair first. Mme Giry's jaw tightened and her whole body seemed to become even straighter than ever.

Soon, Soliman, who had been all the way rather hesistant in his demeanor, as he was at the same time looking for traps all around, suddenly became more confident as he made his way through the lair, _like he knew exactly where he would find_ him.

Raoul's greatest fears of the hour were confirmed.

_They were all there. _

And both Chagny brothers gasped in shock when they saw not only the Phantom of the Opera chained like some wild animal, but also Céleste, all tied up along with three other persons, the only one Raoul recognized being Meg Giry, Christine's best friend and the ballet mistress' daughter. Two foreign-looking men, built like brutes, were guarding them all.

"What is the meaning of this?" Philippe finally managed to ask, once he had managed to get out of his dumbfoundness.

"I apologize for such a… surprise," Soliman started, "but those two have caused me a terrible amount of trouble."

While saying his last sentence, he pointed with his chin towards Erik and Céleste. While Erik seemed to desperately try to look somewhere else, imprisoned in some dark thought, Céleste couldn't hold back a gasp, especially when Soliman had pointed her so accusingly.

"How dare you?" Philippe and Céleste had yelled in a chorus.

"Well, mademoiselle, you certainly will not deny that you were indeed in your convent, but it wasn't for… spiritual matters," Soliman snorted, the tone of his voice almost implying things… that would have probably earned you a duel in older days.

"Oh, this is ridiculous, isn't it?" Philippe shouted in exasperation, trying to find a pointe of sympathy around him. But as he watched Céleste, still visibly shaken by the offense, but her chin somehow low of apprehension, and Raoul, looking like some sort of grounded child, everything started to shatter in him.

"Raoul… do you know something, by any chance?" Philippe started, his little brother's attitude absolutely incomprehensible.

"Yes, what did you know, Vicomte?" Soliman hissed. "After what has happened to your beloved wife, I'm surprised that you are actually taking _his_ side…"

"Enough!" Céleste shouted. The sound of her voice roaring on the cave's walls startled everyone, even Soliman, immediately.

"Yes, I was indeed at the Sacré-Coeur convent. And yes, _he_ was with me. And I will tell you one thing, monsieur, whatever I might have done, after the way you have treated me, you can be sure that there will be no hope of alliance of any kind!"

"Are you so sure, mademoiselle?" Soliman whispered. "You were willing to follow the Opera Ghost, weren't you?"

"How –"

"Well, if he had abducted you, certainly monsieur le vicomte your brother, who seems to know more than he should, wouldn't have stayed so passive. You followed him willingly… didn't you?"

Céleste's head did not lower one bit. But her voice was nothing more than a whisper when she said: "Yes."

"And why?"

"Because we were both threatened by you, that's why."

"And?"

"And that's all, monsieur," Céleste snapped.

"And now, mademoiselle, what will you do?"

"What will she do? _WHAT WILL SHE DO?_" Philippe finally shouted, out of his mind. "How can you even ask her after all… after all this?" "This" had been said in such a disdainful matter that Céleste's cheeks burned of shame, as if Philippe had purely and brutally slapped her in the face.

"Well, dear friend, what will she do, after putting her reputation in such peril?" Soliman susurrated.

"No one will ever know of this," Philippe said rashly. "It's all between us, anyway…"

"You think I will simply let things go like that? I could tell all Paris that your sister hasn't any reputation anymore – and with the Opera Ghost, in addition! – you can't suffer such a thing, hmm? I know that the Emperor has an eye on you, especially with your family's sympathy with the comte de Chambord and the royalist party. Your sister's reputation lost – the final blow, isn't it?"

"I've done nothing wrong in that sense, Philippe, believe me!" Céleste shouted.

"How can I believe you now, anyway?" the elder brother grunted.

"If I'm in this madness in the first place, it was to protect you, and Raoul, and Christine, and their child!" Céleste immediately regretted what she had said, knowing that it would have probably hurt Erik… but she shoved away that thought. It was ridiculous. How could it possibly hurt him? How he suspect that she had done all this for him, and not her family?

_How… _

"Why didn't you tell us anything?" Philippe continued. "You can't just arrange everything like –"

"Oh, so you think I'm nothing more than a WOMAN?!" Céleste shouted, out of her mind, before immediately realizing what she had said. In consequence, Soliman chuckled, muttering under his breath: "A lioness!"

"So what's left to do, then?" Philippe asked, turning towards Soliman.

"Let me marry her. No scandal, no nothing. Forgive me, monsieur le comte, but otherwise, she would have slipped out of my hands like an eel. And I did get something else, eh?" he said, turning to Erik, who was still firmly refusing to even glance at him.

Philippe and Raoul lowered their heads in an acceptance full of revolt, while Soliman made sign to one of the guards to untie Céleste, and push her quite brutally towards her brothers. Ignoring Philippe, still unable to confront him, she squeezed Raoul's hands in hers, while her younger brother was looking at her with something that looked like sympathy.

"I was going to forget," Soliman announced, slowly heading towards Erik. The latter lifted up his head, looking boldly into his eyes. And, despite the fact that the Shah's brother was towering him, Céleste felt as if Erik was not in the slightest diminished in some way, despite his rather humble position.

And then, everything happened so quickly – Soliman quickly ripping Erik's mask and wig off, Erik crying of rage and despair, a cry so loud, inhuman, and where everyone shivered, Mme Giry shouting: "Stop! Please!" and trying to make her way towards him despite the guards blocking her and the blows she would deliver to them with her cane, before being definitely neutralized.

While Erik was desperately trying to hide the ravaged side of his face in the shadows, Soliman made his way back to Céleste and dragged her towards the Phantom, while she was surprising willing, strolling like a sleepwalker.

"No secrets between former lovers, hmm?" Soliman whispered, low enough so Céleste only could hear him. After giving him a glare that would have possibly caused his death if such a thing was possible, and receiving in response a chuckle, Céleste turned slowly towards Erik, mentally murmuring a prayer to give herself courage.

After all, if everyone talked in such horror of the Phantom of the Opera's gruesome disfigurement… why would she do better than everyone else?

She could see nothing, for Erik was still hiding part of his face in the shadows, his eyes shut tightly as a final and hopeless way of defending himself. With sadness, Céleste looked at the good half of his face.

_If it wasn't for this ravage, he would have been quite handsome. _

_No, he is. That's all. _

Seeing that Erik was still refusing to show anything, Soliman brutally seized his face, forcing him to show all the horror.

And Erik, for the first time since… since Christine had left him, actually, felt tears in his eyes, as he saw Céleste pale.

_Céleste, so brave, who never seems afraid of anything… _

It was silly of him, that sudden urge to sulk like a child, and just repeat, again and again that he was sorry.

The Phantom of the Opera, the fearsome Opera Ghost, and the Angel of Death never had any regrets.

And Erik? Did he?

Why would she want of him, anyway?

Did she give him any sort of encouragement?

But Céleste didn't back away. She looked at him, intently, not like if he was some circus freak, but like if she was… well, meeting someone for the first time and that she really did show interest for him. It was strange. So strange. He had never felt anything like that before.

It was gruesome. Céleste had to admit it herself. The top of his head, now revealing rare wild, messy, dirty blonde hair spread almost randomly, was almost bald, and on his forehead, his cheek and his upper lip, his skin seemed to crackle, showing something that reminded of a brain which had been torn to pieces. The top of his lip, on the left, seemed exagerately widened, no, like if it had been crushed or something.

It wasn't pretty. It was the least that could be said of it.

And Céleste was still shaken within her of such a shocking appearance.

Slowly, she leveled herself at Erik's height, looking for his evasive glance.

_Look at me, Erik. _

He didn't.

Céleste could understand why.

_It's gruesome, yes. _

_But do I feel like mocking him? Insulting him? Running away? _

_No. That would just be cruel. _

_Do I pity him, now? _

_No. I can't pity him. Erik doesn't want my pity. _

_He wants pity from no one. _

_So how do I feel about it? _

_I don't know myself. _

_But him… what does he think of me? _

_If only I could tell him… no. Words aren't enough. _

Suddenly, it came to her, so naturally that she was almost horrified of it.

Just _now_? In front of absolutely _everyone_?

_Yes. He knows that I don't play with those things, and that I will mean it. _

And somehow, she realized that she actually wanted it.

It would be the first. And probably the last time.

There was no future for them, anyway.

She smiled, almost defiantly, lifting her chin, but her night blue eyes soft. And finally, Erik looked at her, all his self-loathing all gone. His eyes, which had always hesistated between green and gold, seemed truly golden now, and reminded Céleste of a soft fire.

_A song of ice and fire. _

So, without further ado, without questioning herself again, she leaned forward and kissed him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Short chapter… and yes, I'm awful with cliffhangers. But do you hate me now? ;P I just hope it wasn't too rushed… But hey, chapter 26, they've waited for quite a while, hmm? **

**If you're asking yourselves who the comte de Chambord is, he really is a historical figure. He was the son of Charles X, who was king of France before being overthroned (and himself was the brother of Louis XVI, the beheaded king). In 1872, he was at the head of the royalist party… and it's plain evidence that the Chagnys are firm royalists, hmm? ;) **

**And… lift your hand if you're convinced that Mme Giry can so freaking do kung-fu. *lifts her hand* XD **

**Answers to reviews: **

**TheCrimsonPen: **Thanks! ;)

**michellecarriveau: **I will write one, eventually… but I'll have to work on DJT, and excuse me, but it's gonna be a hella work! But I will, I'm thinking of it seriously! And yes, we all want Erik to torture Soliman… Mwahahaha.

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thank you! ;)

**InYuJi: **I'll just say that you never know what Erik could eventually think of! ;) And hey, singing a song always cheers you up! XD

**EvaAuthor: **10 months? Gosh, did they consider doing a Caesarean? But I'm glad to see that it ended up well. And um… hey, I think talking about Soliman who's got to get tortured or something has given me an idea for the QOTD… Tee-hee. *evil grin*

**PhantomFan01: **I know exactly what you mean… I hate when I fall on abandoned stories that just have that HUGE cliffie at the end… Argh! And thanks! ;)

**SierraStanley.52: **Unfortunately, it's not that easy… Remember who Erik is, and remember who Céleste is… But are you happy now? ;) Seriously, I've been waiting to post this very moment for weeks! *evil grin*

**Guest: **Thanks! ;)

**Question of the day: If you go on LiveJournal, you can sometimes find challenges. One I found once was: "Imagine 30 different deaths for a character you hate." So it's up to you, now, guys. Time to imagine horrible deaths for Soliman. I just need to get sadistic since **_**Game of Thrones**_** isn't airing anymore. XD Or nah, if I need to get sadistic, I'll just go and read some Shakespeare. (I mean, seriously, just in **_**Hamlet**_**, there's like only two characters who actually SURVIVE.) **


	28. Chapter 27

**A/N: I've been watching POTO 2004 with my cousin. And yes, she was seeing for the first time. Thankfully, she doesn't ship Erik/Christine (no, I have nothing to do with it), she not only thinks Meg is awesome (she has a bit of a proportion to prefer secondary characters), she ships Erik/Meg! I'm so proud of her… **

**But we both realized something… okay, I think we'll all agree to say that Raoul truly has a Disneyish-Prince-Charming vibe, but Christine most definitely has a Disneyish-Princess vibe as well. I mean, just remember how she wakes up in the swan bed, completely flawless, her makeup still perfect and not at all mushed up (it would have been kind of funny to see her in Rose Tyler mode, with her mascara all spilling and everything, but anyway), her hair still perfect (I WANT HER HAIR). All is missing are the little birds coming in and doing her hair. But in Erik's cave, well, no birds. Probably bats or rats, and Christine would just scream her lumbs out if she saw some (I mean, seriously, why is Meg the scream-queen and not Christine? Christine is obviously the one with the pipes!) So let's face it, Erik doesn't need a Disney Princess, he needs someone badass!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 27<strong>

For Céleste and Erik, it had lasted like hours.

Kissing someone wasn't so bad. Well, kissing Erik wasn't so bad, despite the weird… thing above the left side of his upper lip.

Actually, Céleste liked it.

She innerly blushed and scolded herself for such a thought.

At least, it wouldn't be a bad memory for her.

She could feel Erik trembling. After all, he had been totally taken by surprise, like everyone else.

_Céleste has kissed me. _

_Céleste de Chagny has kissed me. _

_Of her own free will. _

It wasn't a forced kiss, given by a girl at first trembling with fear, then melting into a muddle of pity for poor, unhappy Erik, condemned to live forever in the shadows.

No. She had done it of her own free will.

And Erik realized, only at that moment, that it wasn't something easy for her to do.

If he had told her a few weeks earlier that she would someday do such a thing, she would have been scandalized!

He smiled innerly, seeing very clearly in her mind her reaction.

Erik liked human touch. He hadn't experienced much of it in his life. He remembered with bitterness how he had asked, on his fifth birthday, for a kiss on the forehead from his mother… and all that was left of such a demand was not only the memory of a woman gone hysterical, repeating no again and again, but also scars on his hands, reminding him of the first time he had seen his face and how he had smashed the mirror, believing that he was facing a monster.

Antoinette had touched him several times, when he was still a boy and that she was acting as a very young mother for him. But still shaken by his trauma at the gipsy camp, he would often back away like a wounded animal.

Then, the boy had become a man, with needs and desires like every other man on Earth. He had seen the world, observed all the secrets the Opera Populaire was hiding. He had longed for such sensations, and the fact that he had rarely so much as a soft hand on his shoulder only made the dream even more sublime.

There was that moment where Christine had approached him, tenderly caressing his face before brutally ripping his mask off, showing to her the horror for the very first time. Then _Don Juan Triumphant_…even now, Erik didn't want to remember it. The memory of Christine playing the game to get so easy to betraying him in front of all Paris was still devouring him from the inside each time he thought of it. Then the kiss, which had slapped him brutally in the face, showing him once and for all that the Angel he had spent years to mould according to his wishes and dreams could never be his.

And now… he could see that human touch… could also be something sincere. Not at all like he had imagined it, in his crazy ideals. No. It was something even deeper, something he couldn't quite understand in its entirety. It was something that reminded him of how Nadir would sometimes talk about him about Rookheeya, his deceased wife, or when Antoinette would talk about Jules. It also reminded him of that night where he had seen Christine on the rooftop with the vicomte, though Erik quickly shoved away the comparison, which he didn't like too much.

It was something whole, genuine, and deep. And Erik was amazed by it.

With his music, he had thought that he could englobe the whole universe in it, and be its god forever.

Now, he had discovered it was way more than that.

Even, the universe he had known until now seemed ridiculously minuscule.

All of this had travelled through Erik's mind in maybe two seconds. But for him, it seemed like hours. And when Céleste finally backed away, he couldn't help but look at her, his mouth half-open into some sort of amazed smile, his eyes wide, like if he was disappointed it was already over, being similar to a child in so many ways. To such an expression, Céleste couldn't hold a tender smile.

Behind them, Meg and Alexandre couldn't help quick glances at each other, slightly blushing, and still aware enough to peek towards Mme Giry to make sure she would see nothing of it. But the ballet mistress had only eyes for Erik, tears in them, full of some sort of maternal pride and at the same time pain for what was coming for Céleste, but also Erik, condemned to always suffer while she could do nothing… Slowly, she turned towards the Daroga, meeting his amazed look… and smiled.

They were truly fascinating, the two of them.

Her fear for the future slowly faded away.

They would find a way.

She knew it.

Both of them had already faced so much, and they had survived till this day.

Raoul was utterly… dumbfounded. He still didn't exactly know why. Céleste's gesture had shocked him, yes. But he still didn't know if it was the kiss itself, or the person she had kissed.

Because, well, at that moment, Raoul didn't feel anything… well, he didn't feel anything we could qualify of being negative towards Erik.

Anyway, this used to be all about Christine.

And now, Christine seemed so far away from all this.

A few weeks earlier, if Raoul had been told that his sister had anything to do with the Phantom of the Opera, he would have jumped on his feet in the blink of an eye and done anything in his power to save her from his grasp.

But now, Raoul could see clearly that the Phantom had absolutely no power over Céleste. There was nothing of this unhealthy trance he had seen on Christine's face, that time when she had gone to her father's grave.

No.

For a moment, Raoul remembered the tales of the North Gustave Daaé used to tell them.

He could see very well Erik as some sort of dark enchanter, who had, at the first sight, taken power over a winter nymph – no, the queen of the winter nymphs herself, in a way shown by the firm grasp on her hand.

But then, the queen would have a little smile, very light, showing that she was in full control of her own capacities.

And even, it would make you wonder if the enchanter was rather under the spell of the nymph.

Raoul innerly laughed of such a fantasy. He was really getting too old for those fairytales – he was a married man (goodness did that sentence sound good), and a soon-to-be father, for God's sake! Though, he had to admit it, now, he would have to get back to all those Breton and Scandinavian tales, so the baby could hear them also…

And especially now, he was thinking of fairy tales while… oh dear.

_What is Céleste thinking? _

This was all just so complicated.

And Raoul, despite him being a married man, felt suddenly very young and inexperienced.

As a way to think about something else, his gaze headed towards Soliman. Raoul suspected that, except probably Philippe, he would probably be the least happy about what had just happened. But, to the vicomte's great surprise, Soliman's face had remained… emotionless. Well, with everything he had implied earlier, such a reaction wasn't that unexpected.

But still, he certainly didn't expect Céleste to kiss the Phantom, and especially not in front of _everybody_!

Soliman was indeed startled. And more than ever, Céleste reminded him of those untamed Arabian horses, ready to kick even if the trainer had a whip in his hand. He had expected her to back away in terror while seeing the Angel of Death's face – anyway, any woman in Persia had done so, except, of course, his mother, who had found in it some sort of twisted, morbid charm. And Céleste, who had been raised so cherished, certainly couldn't resist her terror.

She had paled. He had seen it.

But despite it all, she had kissed him.

And somehow, Soliman had realized that he could never tame her.

She couldn't be a woman. She was so different of all the women he knew, so far away from what the Prophet had said about women in the Coran.

Women like that were… coming straight from Hell.

Of course, Soliman didn't include his own mother. For even the dark souls, a mother is never a woman, after all…

As much as it was easy to believe that Erik was some sort of fallen angel condemned to live in an abject human body, now, Soliman truly believed Céleste de Chagny's body was possessed by a demon.

But it wouldn't stop him. _He_ was the Shadow of God, and not his incapable elder brother! _He_ was Mahomet's heir! And whoever she was, Céleste was to submit to him!

He slowly turned to Philippe, retained a smirk when he saw how the comte was horrified of seeing his sister behave in such a way when everything had just fallen apart. Still too dumbfounded to even say a word, Philippe simply _waited for something to happen._ He frankly didn't know what else to do. Everything just seemed like a dream, so unreal… Soliman, seeing he would pull nothing from the comte de Chagny, immediately turned back to Céleste, still crouched on the floor, and seized her shoulder, forcing her to get up. But immediately, the lady turned towards him.

"Don't look at me like that," she said roughly. "I will follow you. And you know that I will stay faithful to you. I do not break vows. Especially not sacred ones."

Céleste didn't dare to turn towards Erik. She wanted to remember the feel of his lips on hers, the amazed, childish look he had when she had slowly backed away. It was a good memory, for a last one.

Soliman's jaw and fist tightened, and, for a moment, Céleste was afraid that he was going to hit her. But he simply muttered:

"Very well. We shall get out of here. Amir, Ishmael, guard them," he added to the bodyguards, making sign towards Erik, the Daroga, Meg, Alexandre and Mme Giry.

"What are you to do with them?" Céleste asked.

"That is none of your business," Soliman replied roughly. "But… for what is of your lover, mademoiselle, you will know… soon. I will win… I don't care what kind of a demon is within you, but I will win."

"A demon, monsieur?" Céleste cried, thunderstruck. "Do you believe me to be some case of possession?"

_I may have not behaved respectably these last weeks, but to say that I am a case of possession… Good God, possessed people behave like madmen! They drool, and they scream, and they bite… well, that's what they say in the Bible. _

"Yes, I do." Soliman said, so frankly Céleste retained herself not to giggle out loud. "But that won't stop me from bringing his head to you," he added, pointing Erik.

But Céleste felt no urge to shiver. On the contrary, she couldn't hold back a wicked smile, still thinking of what Soliman how just told her about her being possessed.

"Yes," she said, staring at Soliman, trying to imitate Erik's death glances. "Or maybe he'll bring me back yours."

She innerly scolded herself for behaving in such a way.

_I've spent way too much time with Erik. _

But at the same time, remenants of her childhood came back to her… when she was that mischievous little girl, still believing in her dreams…

_Now is no time to believe in dreams, isn't it? Ha. _

But still…

She would probably never be the same.

And somehow, things were better that way.

She wouldn't let Soliman kill Erik. She wouldn't let Soliman take control of her life. But for the rest… Céleste preferred not to think of it.

Soliman, his face unreadable, stared at her for a moment, for the first time almost uneasy. Then, without further ado, shoving her away by a gesture, he made a quick sign towards the entrance where he had come in earlier.

"We're leaving," he simply said, inviting the Chagnys to follow him.

* * *

><p>For the next few hours, Erik had deliberately ignored all the attempts either Nadir or Antoinette had made to talk to him. Finally, after certain time, they had abandoned, remaining in silence. Meg and Alexandre, quietly, were the only ones talking. Erik had half-listened to their conversation at the beginning, as they were discussing of the American Civil War. And he had to admit that while the boy was rather well-educated, the little ballerina was curious and able to understand many things despite her inexperience, having known nothing else than the Opera house.<p>

And _dear God_, they were prisoners, and they were still able to have a _chat_! And especially with Antoinette's eagle eye never leaving them!

But the fight that had opposed North to South only a few years ago didn't interest Erik at all, at least for now.

He had to wait. Soon, Ishmael would leave, and Amir would be all alone. He was the youngest, and the most impressionable.

A few hours earlier, he had been ready to abandon everything. He didn't quite understand why he had behaved that way. It was just… well, it was all so complicated. And fast. It was like he had lived a thousand years in seconds, and that his brain didn't have the time to register everything that had happened.

Before, he had always struggled for life. No, for survival more than anything. He had killed to get things his way, and everything had seemed to attain its climax with Christine.

When Soliman had caught them, the situation, for the first time, showed absolutely no way out.

And Céleste…

He loved her. It was so strange to say it to himself for real, without any ulterior motive of any kind. He had realized it, before, but to see it everything in its entirety was another thing.

Erik already knew what was going to happen next. The Chagnys would come in, take back Céleste, abandoning her to Soliman's hands. If the situation only relied on Erik, he would have killed them all without a thought. If it was only that held him from having Céleste, he would do it.

But Céleste would never belong to anyone. She had made that quite clear on their first meeting face to face. She was of those women who would never belong or be ruled by anyone. He remembered, with a smile, how he had compared once to the Snow Queen from those Nothern tales.

Yes, Céleste was a storm. But not a destructive, deadly one. A beautiful, powerful one, where the wind would sing its never ending melody of life despite the nature temporarily fallen asleep, showing that despite the trees being naked, Earth was still alive and roaring.

There was also something else, strength in her that Erik still didn't quite understand, but that seem so grand and… unreachable. Simply, the way she would talk either of nonsense or religion to Clémence while the little girl would pay very close attention to each of her words, wide-eyed, able to understand everything Céleste would tell her, may it be shallow and silly or deep, so deep Erik even wondered why some women couldn't be priests. Simply, how she would still care about her brothers, be concerned about them…

Céleste was conscience made in person. For years, Erik had shoved it away. To be frank, conscience wasn't practical at all.

She would follow her brothers, if they command it to her, because it was simply the good thing to do. Earlier, Erik would have despised her for just abandon him there, but he had realized, just by her kiss, that it broke her heart just as much as his.

But he had to admit she had done certain progress. Her sense of humor had developed itself in the past few weeks, and all the snobbiness, disdain he had seen earlier within her had also faded away. He remembered how he had accused the vicomte of such flaws… to realize, though he had to admit it pained him, that it clearly wasn't the case.

Still, Céleste wouldn't be able to get back to him on her own.

Everything relied on him now.

But he had to be careful. Otherwise, he would lose her forever.

God, were things so complicated when you had to respect the rules!

But he would do it.

He knew that somehow, he would succeed.

And even if he didn't, he would still be the winner in the end.

He was the one who had won Céleste's heart and soul, and not Soliman.

_Don Juan Triumphant_ came to him again, even more powerful than ever, with a force that he had never experienced before.

And suddenly, the version he had written to win Christine seemed incredibly childish.

He would have to rework it as soon as possible.

Rework _Don Juan_? His masterpiece?

Yes.

_Just don't think too much that it wasn't perfect before. That's not a pleasant thought AT ALL. _

Finally, Ishmael went away, leaving Amir all alone. For what he had heard of their conversation, he would have about an hour to put everything to execution. Not much time, to be honest, but it would be enough.

Erik closed his eyes, lowering his head, pretending to be asleep by his regular breathing. But he remained unable of showing a crooked, wicked smile, which thankfully, the darkness hid. But it didn't escape the Daroga's sharp glance, the latter not knowing if he should worry that Erik would just make matters worse or start hoping that finally, he had find a way to get them out.

"Heeeeeee…"

Amir jumped at least six feet above the ground, and frantically looked around him. But nothing seemed to have provoked the horrible screeching noise he had just heard. He cast a suspicious glance towards the prisoners, to see that everyone, except the Angel of Death who was seemingly asleep judging by his closed eyes, lowered head and deep breathing visible by his chest lifting at a slow, almost rhythmical tempo, had been just as startled as he was.

"Wreeeeee…"

The screeching came in again, and even more insupportable than ever. Searching frantically in the cavern, Amir followed the sound until he arrived in front of a cello in a corner, and, despite that there was no one holding the bow to produce the sound, and that the latter was well at its place, just beside the instrument, Amir could hear that it was coming from the cello.

"WreeeeeEEEE!"

The screeching sound became even louder and louder. Amir, who was just beside the instrument, couldn't help but put his hands over his ears, praying the Prophet so the madness would stop. And meanwhile… while the prisoners tried desperately to block their ears, but that they were unable to do so because of their tied wrists behind their backs, Erik… still seemed asleep.

Asleep.

That wasn't normal.

"Releeeeeaaase… usssssss!" the cello seemed to shriek.

"No!" the bodyguard cried.

"RELEEEEEAAASE... USSSSSSS!" it cried, even louder.

"NO!"

The noise spread across the cave, banging on the walls, the screeching voice becoming louder and more horrible than ever, until Amir couldn't handle it anymore. So the stories he had heard were true. He was nothing more than a little boy when the Angel of Death was still in Persia, but he had heard the legends about him. And despite Soliman telling them repeatedly that he was nothing more than a man, at that moment, Amir refused to believe it. He unfortunately never got to know something quite rational called ventriloquism…

"RELEEEEEAAASE USSSSSSS!"

No answer came from Amir, crumpled on the ground.

"WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" The screeching became even louder than ever, to the point that Meg even screamed as an attempt to cover it. Well, certainly, her screaming would be more agreeable than… that! It wasn't the time to be logical, anyway!

"STOP IT! I'LL DO IT!" Amir finally shouted. His last words echoed on the cavern's walls, and a few seconds passed in deadly silence.

Still trembling, the bodyguard untied the links holding Mme Giry, Meg, Alexandre and the Daroga, to finally head towards Erik, in an almost reverential way despite his trembling becoming even more intense by the second. The Phantom's head was still lowered, which made Amir even more nervous, for he didn't know what to expect.

Suddenly, Erik seemed to finally wake up from his sleep, looking around him, confused. Amir had jumped at his abrupt reaction, and calmed down a bit… but still quite unwilling to hear the noise again, he unchained Erik, though he stayed very, very careful.

Well, almost.

He had forgotten to put his hand at the level of his eyes.

The last thing Amir heard before dying, killed by the Punjab lasso, was an angry contralto voice commanding that he would be left alone, and the deep, seductive voice of the Angel of Death, made even more terrifying at such a moment, muttering that if he lived, he would give an alert and so, they would all have very little chances of survival.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Evil!Erik is sexy. XD **

**Answers to reviews: **

**EvaAuthor: ***punches out Soliman's last tooth* Here you go. XD But hey, I've achieved my goal! Soliman is actually what Joffrey Baratheon from _Game of Thrones_ would have been like older… But thankfully, Joffrey will never know such days… Mwahaha. And thank you so much for your encouragement! And by the way, how is your story going? ;)

**PhantomFan01: **Seriously, I think Céleste could have made a lucky finger to Soliman while kissing Erik XD And thanks! ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean: **I know XD You're all gonna die of fluffiness…

**InYuJi: **You never know what Erik hides in store… And I think you'll like everyone's reaction to the kiss. ;)

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Corrections are hell. *sigh* And I admit to you quite frankly that I'm really digging to try to find a way to put in back again Herr Schmidt or La Parilla, because I honestly have no ideas… If you do, don't feel shy of giving me some! All credits will go to you, of course ;) And it's true that _I Dreamed a Dream_ was inappropriate. Despite that song being beautiful, it's so overused, and I sort of fell in the trap… _Werther_ fits a lot better.

I'll tell you one thing – I'm sort of tired of Christine being pregnant and in result not being able to do much… But if you count the months and everything, the baby is coming very, very soon (and yes, I promise that _it_ will not be twins, or triplets, or quadruplets!)

Honestly, I think I'm going to write a few one-shots about Raoul and Christine as little kids…

Raoul being over-dramatic… Now I see that part in _The Ballad of Russell and Julie_ when David Tennant has about a dozen cigarettes in his hands and just sings: "I can't do it, I can't do it!" and now I see Raoul in the same situation… XD

It's true that Erik's use of words is a little vulgar. I ticked a bit when I re-read myself after publishing the chapter, but I was too lazy to edit it… Doing it right now… But now that I think about it, I rather tend to see Erik using words only found in the dictionary Captain-Haddock-style… I mean, he's such a nerd XD

The Daroga and his headaches… *sigh*

What, more operas for mezzos? This is getting interesting… well, at least, in musical world, there are more roles for mezzos than for sopranos (just look at _Les Misérables_, for instance… Cosette is the only soprano and all the other feminine roles are either mezzos (Fantine, Éponine) or contraltos (Mme Thénardier)) And, well, Christine, Glinda, Maria von Trapp and Sandy from _Grease_ put apart, the big musical roles for girls (Elphaba, Eponine, Fantine, Evita, Esmeralda, Mrs Lovett) are actually mezzos…

And I started reading the LND review… priceless. I haven't read the whole thing yet, because it's pretty long, but it's great.

Honestly, the idea of Philippe just abandoning his sister and denying her never even crossed my head ;D And yeah, the Chagnys are total Royalists, and the descendant of the Chouans within me just loves them even more XD

That part where Erik closes his eyes like if he thought no one could see anything if he did so sort of reminded me of that part in Kay where his mother shows him his face for the first time… Since that day, Erik started to make experiments with mirrors, and even as an adult, he was still convinced they were magic. "I could show people anything they wanted to see – anything but my face." It's a bit far-fetched, but still…

But I'm glad you don't think Céleste's train of thoughts isn't too rushed or Mary-Sue-ish! Because, well, I wanted to be as far away as possible from the usual OC who just goes "Oh, it's not that bad", and, well, Erik IS grossely disfigured, so when you think about it, I honestly don't see why Céleste wouldn't be grossed out. And, well, she got to know him, as well. And she has learned to somehow forget the mask. Well, actually, she wasn't even morbidily attracted to it, and even, she didn't care about it. And despite her stereotypical vision of life, Céleste is not shallow at all…

Céleste being immune to Erik's hypnotic powers – I drew a bit of inspiration from Emma Swan in _Once Upon a Time_. I'll give you a quick resume – basically, it's a TV series where the Evil Queen wants to revenge from Snow White, and curses the entire fairytale world to live in a little city in Maine, USA. They are figited in time, so they don't age, they have all lost their memories, except the Evil Queen who is also the mayor of the town, and of course, Snow White and her Prince Charming aren't together ;) But Snow White, just before the curse was made, gave birth to a little girl (Emma). And according to a prophecy, if Emma was sent to our world before the curse was enabled, she would eventually save everyone.

So, back to Emma/Céleste… simply, Emma has at a certain point Pinocchio (yes, Pinocchio) who has the mission to convince her that all the inhabitants of the town need her help for the curse. But of course, Emma doesn't believe him. She had a rough childhood, going to foster families, ending up as a criminal, giving birth to a child in prison… Not much hope left for her. So since Pinocchio is failing his mission, he's slowly turning back into a wooden puppet. There's that part where the poor guy is fed up, and shows her his wooden leg to prove everything to her once and for all… but Emma is so refusing to believe everything that she doesn't even see that the leg is actually made of wood…

And back to Céleste… she has been practically brain-washed during her childhood. She had dreams, like every little girl, and she has been quite brutally taken away from them… So she has resigned herself, she knows that she'll marry one day, and she has somehow accepted it, though she can still be jealous of Raoul and Christine. So, she has become this very down-to-earth woman, closing herself to anything unusual and extraordinaire… and than Erik comes in. And that armor just crackles more and more… but from her rough experience, she has grown somehow strong, mentally speaking.

I hope I was clear… because all this just seems like babbling.

And yes, Horatio is great!

**michellecarriveau: **Thanks! And hey, I just had so much fun writing everyone's reaction, really! And thanks about my upcoming story! It's funny, because I've just watched a review about POTO, and the guy doing the review (I don't know if Jess Daniels means anything to you, well, he made several POTO and LND reviews on Youtube, and they're just plain hilarious. I can give you the link to them if you want) admitted being more interested by the plot of _Don Juan Triumphant_ than the plot of POTO itself! So, yes, it's gonna be good… *evil grin*

**Aria: **Little Miss Aria! It's been a while!

ALW!Meg really represents life and light to me. I think that her optimism is really what helped Christine go out through the years and, you know, not being completely brought down by her father's death. Christine really needed Meg like air. And then, later, Raoul came in. ;) So then ALW just effed all her character in _Love Never Dies_… She went from the cheery, compassionate, sweet but gutsy and intelligent little ballerina to a depressed, jealous, border-line crazy prostitute and would-be Phantomess. Sheesh. To resume everything, Meg is the most underappreciated character in POTO… after Raoul, of course. Gosh, Raoul is hard to beat. XD

Well, let's just say that the minute you hurt Christine (like Soliman did a few chapters earlier), Raoul considers you as evil. Christine is his berserk button, if you want… Philippe knows nothing, since he knows only the good side to Soliman and everything… But about what Raoul knows about Soliman being a threat… well, it all has to do with the Phantom, and more importantly, Céleste… And hey, Chagny bromance pawa XD

Me and my cliffies. Mwahahaha.

I'm not doing Idea #1, but Idea #4… but I will do it eventually, promise! But you can still tell me why you like Erik/Meg. ;)

Questions. You asked a lot, sheesh! I won't answer them here… you'll have to check on my LJ, and here's the link:

Well… I must say it's hard not to remember Erik's f**ked up past even in tough moments, and well… I think Céleste does really care for him. Or more. Tee-hee.

And for everyone's reaction… You'll see. ;)

And well… kiss him to just get him out? I admit to you I don't really see how…

I love the 101 deaths you came up with. Mwahaha. But you forgot shot by a Dalek. (I'm sorry, I just can't wait till Doctor Who airs again.) Or reading Fifty Shades of Grey. (Seriously, that book is only bearable when it's Charles Dance reading it.

And… how is your own phanfic going? ;)


	29. Chapter 28

**A/N: Guys, I need help. I'm addicted to writing this story. And I'm in love with Twelve now. Eight, Ten, Eleven, no, don't get jealous. **

**I just learned that before Joseph Millson, John Barrowman (aka Captain Jack Harkness) was supposed to be the first LND!Raoul… But apparently, he had an argument with Andrew Lloyd Webber for a reorchestration thingy, and he got sick of everything and left… I felt like yelling at first because gosh, John Barrowman as Raoul would definitely make me drool like crazy… But then, it wouldn't make much sense for Christine to choose the Phantom over Captain Jack Harkness' sosie… And I'll also mention that he did play Raoul in POTO before, in West End, in 1992! I went to listen to him. And thank god, he's a tenor (Raoul should always be sung by a tenor!), and his voice has something… boyish in it while singing **_**All I Ask of You**_**.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28<strong>

Céleste would have never believed, a few months before, that one day, Christine's presence would be so comforting.

Her sister-in-law, for now, lived in some sort of cocoon. It was necessary, for the baby who was coming very soon. Céleste wasn't aware if Christine knew or knew nothing. She didn't even dare to talk to her about it. All she could see was the concerned look on the brunette's porcelain doll-like face. Probably, at the very least, she knew that something was wrong.

After a sleepless night, where just before, she had immediately headed towards her room, slamming it, showing everyone she refused to have any sort of communication, may it be with her brothers or Soliman, as it had been during the road back to the Chagnys' home, where she had enclosed herself in an obstinate silence, she had undressed herself, and collapsed on her bed, spending a sleepless night, unable to cry. She _had_ to cry, though, since she had absolutely no idea of what was going to happen to Erik, or the Daroga, or Mme Giry, or Meg, or that boy accompanying them…

Erik…

No, Erik couldn't get killed.

Erik was of the ones who seemed immortal by birth, since he seemed so far away from the mere mortal…

_How can I save him? I'm trapped. More than ever. _

In the morning, she had got dressed, ignoring the maid who had come in her room with a food tray containing her breakfast. She would be sick if she ate anything. She knew it.

Instead, she had gone to Christine's room, where she was forced to stay. Her sister-in-law's company seemed to be the only bearable thing, right now. Raoul and Philippe even had the decency of leaving them alone, despite the younger telling her, just before she entered, as if he knew she would head to Christine's room, that she mustn't be bothered emotionally, before immediately leaving to God knew where. And somehow, Céleste was thankful for that. She needed peace. At least for now.

And they had blabbered about everything and nothing. Names for the baby, for example.

"If it's a boy, Raoul said we can call him Gustave, just like Papa." Christine had said, with a smile. "If it's a girl… we still don't know. Raoul said he used to like the name Éléonore… but for our baby, it just seems too regal of a name."

"I agree," Céleste said with a very, very light smile, imagining how Raoul and Christine's baby would look like if it was to be a little girl. Probably a simple little girl, simple like a prairie flower in spring…

"You look like an Éléonore, though," Christine said with a smile. "Besides that… we thought of Émeline, Laurence, Blanche or Emma. But I guess I'll decide only when I'll see her, if it's a girl."

"I guess," Céleste shrugged.

Silence installed itself between the two women. It was only when Christine cleared her throat softly that finally, she dared to say:

"Am I… boring you?"

"What? Oh, no, no, not at all. Just… continue, really."Céleste answered impulsively. She had to admit it; Christine's light chatter about the baby did cheer her up a little bit. It was hard not to.

"I guess you don't want to think too much about… _him_," Christine started tentatively, but blushing at the same time. "Forgive me… what's his name, again?"

"Erik," Céleste simply answered, still taken aback by what Christine had said previously.

"Erik," Christine repeated, closing her eyes, before opening them again, a soft smile on her lips. "He never told me his name, you know."

"Well, he never did either. I know it from Mme Giry. And… I don't even know why I started calling him like that. It just came… naturally."

"Perhaps you see him more as a human," Christine stated.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" Christine blushed a bit, looking for words. "It's just so strange to me, to know that, well, he really does have a name. You know, for so many years, I thought he was an Angel, and then, even, when Raoul was there and everything – I sometimes wondered if he did have something to do with the supernatural. Just the way he would sing to me, or even sometimes gaze at me… I don't know what would happenned to me then. It was… like nothing else existed. Only him. And if I didn't go to him, somehow, I knew I would die."

Christine blushed even more, and hid her face in her hands.

"You must be jealous of me now," she said with shame.

"I'll tell you one thing," Céleste finally said, determined to be honest like Christine had been with her, "I was. Before, of course. But I was too much of a little fool to realize it."

"No, you weren't," Christine replied kindly. "It's just… it is quite unexpected, isn't it?"

"Yes… but you seem to know a lot."

Christine lowered her eyes.

"Yes, well… I… forced Raoul to tell me everything."

Céleste's eyes widened.

"You… really?" she finally managed to mutter.

"Yes," Christine said, her neck becoming straighter, though she still seemed uneasy. "Simply… I'm going to become a mother, and I can't be just a little girl anymore… well, I won't change like that and… be like you, but I want to be stronger."

Céleste couldn't hold back a grin, as tears came to her eyes.

_Be like you. _

And, without further ado, she took Christine's hand in hers, delicately, but firmly.

"So… can I ask you to be the baby's godmother? Raoul agrees."

"Even with my disgrace?" Céleste said with a wry smile.

"You've done nothing wrong," Christine replied softly. "At least, not for me. It's just… I'm so happy someone loves _him_!"

The vicomtesse tried to smile again, but her smile became a grimace, as she broke into tears.

"Oh, Christine, please, don't cry," Céleste said, hugging her sister-in-law spontaneously. "No… I should be the one crying!"

"Erik will find you," Christine said despite her choking. "He brought down the Opera Populaire for me. For you, he'll provoke the end of the world! I know it!"

"Don't say that, Christine, please," Céleste begged her, but knowing that somehow, it was the truth.

A shy, gentle knock on the door suddenly interrupted them, and they jump at the noise. Finally, a maid timidly made her way in Christine's room, uneasy.

"Mademoiselle… the dressmaker is waiting for you… for the wedding dress."

_Bang. _

"Yes. Of course. The wedding dress." Céleste had spoken so coldly Christine and the maid couldn't help but be startled. Her head high, so stiff it was almost unnatural, Céleste headed towards the door.

* * *

><p>"So, no sneezing, no shouting, because anyway, you won't see any corpses here," Erik said harshly, another mask and wig firmly on guard on him, glancing more especially at Meg.<p>

"Well, yes, tell that to the girl who got tortured for… hours?" Meg grumbled, more than tired that the Phantom was treating her like a little girl, before remembering that her mother and Alexandre were there. She glanced quickly at her mother, who had stiffened, looking painfully at her, then scornfully at Erik. And Alexandre…

"Who tortured you?" he asked almost threatingly, in a tone which made Mme Giry jump, while Erik simply smirked in the dark.

"Oh, Alexandre, it's not important, really."

"Was it Ishmael?" Erik asked casually.

Meg glared at him. "Why do you want to know?"

A smirk appeared on the Phantom's lips. "I'll take that as a yes. And… it might just get us out of here safely."

A glimmer of comprehension appeared on Meg's face. "Well, I don't think he will…"

"He did manage to knock out Robert," Erik continued. "He'll manage with Ishmael, believe me."

"What?" Mme Giry asked sternly. "What happened with that drunken stagehand…?"

"Nothing, M'man, really," Meg answered nervously.

"Uh, simply, Madame, there was one of the stagehands who was being… enterprising with Meg… uh, Miss Giry, uh, yes, Meg, and… I happened to be there."

"So you're the one who gave him that bruise on his face?" Mme Giry asked coolly.

"Yes…" Alexandre mumbled.

For the first time, a smile appeared on Antoinette Giry's face.

"Thank you. It is hard to keep your daughter's virtue safe in an Opera house…"

"He's coming," Erik suddenly whispered.

Immediately, he made sign to the little group to gather against a corner of the tunnel. But they became all aware quickly that Ishmael would easily find their hiding place…

"No killing, hmm?" Erik whispered. So, without further ado, and before Mme Giry could even have time to react, he pushed Meg out of the shadows, straight in front of Ishmael.

"WHAT ARE YOU…" yelled Antoinette, enraged. But she was interrupted by Alexandre literally jumping towards Ishmael, who had just barely noticed Meg's sudden appearance. And the young Goutelin, who a few minutes earlier seemed unable to hurt a fly, gave several punches to the Oriental man, too startled to react, and who finally stumbled, knocked out, on the floor.

Her moment of amazement finally gone away, Mme Giry finally turned towards to Erik, very calm. And when Antoinette Giry, née Roussel, was that calm… things weren't going to be pretty at all.

"And what was that for?" she asked coldly.

"You said no killing," Erik responded casually. "Apparently, I can't hold myself from doing that, and Nadir and his reflexes will do no good either. And with Amir dead, it will take a while before he'll be able to give the alert. And until then…"

Mme Giry lifted her eyes towards the ceiling, and turned back towards Meg and Alexandre, who were hugging each other, before they soon realized that the ballet mistress was watching, to immediately separate from each other, a guilty look on their faces. But for once, Mme Giry turned away with a smile.

"And… I did help you in your relationship with your future in-law," Erik added distratively, but with a malicious glimmer in his eyes.

"You…" Madame Giry started to mutter… but Erik suddenly pulled out the boysish look he always showed in those times, when he had just come back to the Opera house and started to pull pranks on the stagehands, the ballerinas, or La Carlotta or La Sorelli themselves… and she was furious, of course. But he would pull out that look… At least that mischief prepared her to that time he had asked her to act as his intermediary for his salary and other matters…

Erik knew very well that it was one of the rare things that made her melt.

"Well, I guess everything is all right, now," Mme Giry finally mumbled, turning her back to Erik, knowing it was no good to argue with him anyway.

Well, you had to be Céleste de Chagny to argue with him.

Finally, the little group found their way towards the passage leading to the Rue Scribe. When they finally got out in fresh air, they realized that it was still daytime, perhaps even around noon.

"We won't be able to go very far, without even money for a coach," said the Daroga.

Erik turned to Antoinette.

"You have one of your cousins who is a seamstress, right? Do you think you, Meg and Alexandre could go there for a while?"

"And what will you do?"

Silence installed itself before Erik finally spoke again.

"I have to find Céleste." He said, in a tone so soft she didn't remember to have heard before.

He sighed, before finding again his usual tone. "And Nadir is doomed to be stuck with me anyway."

Antoinette Giry retained a smile, while the Daroga rolled his eyes. And, though she wasn't very demonstrative, even with her own daughter, she leaned towards Erik and gave him a kiss on the forehead, feeling her eyes even growing a little moist.

"Then good luck, Erik. Just… don't do anything stupid. Please."

_Why am I even asking him this, anyway? He never listened to me for Christine. _

But this time, Erik had a very small smile, and even took Antoinette's hands into his, pressing them softly.

* * *

><p>"It is unlucky to see that the groom sees the bride's dress before the wedding day."<p>

_Goodness, who knows? Maybe all the bad luck provoked by such a thing will turn into good luck for me. _

Soliman smirked arrogantly, while the dressmaker, seemingly a stranger to everything happening around her and not concerning the wedding dress directly, continued making a few adjustments. Meanwhile, Céleste, even stiffer than a dummy would have been, looked straight in front of ever, her gaze refusing to follow Soliman pacing around the room, before he finally sat down lazily on a couch, right in front of Céleste, to take out of a pocket a white half-mask.

_Erik's mask. _

He would manipulate it, twirl it in his hands, and throw it in the air before catching it again like a neglectful child would do. And Céleste knew very well that this little ploy was all there to torture her even more.

"What are you going to do?" she finally snorted. "Play dress up with it?"

"You are charming," Soliman replied, not even looking at her.

"Don't make me blush," Céleste said in a flowery tone, but so sarcastic the mockery was but too evident.

"Oh, dearest, please, I was just teasing you," Soliman said, getting up and heading towards her, a friendly look on his face which would have fooled anyone. Seemingly gently, he took Céleste's hand, but the rough pressure she felt clearly showed her his real intentions. "We don't want everyone to start to gossip about us, hmm?" he continued, glancing quickly at the dressmaker.

_Conceal, show nothing. That's how a lady must behave, serene, accepting, smiling. _

Her mother and her governess' lessons came back to her. And strangely, they seemed so faraway…

_Masquerade…_

_Paper faces of parade…_

_Masquerade…_

_Hide your face so the world will never find you… _

"We need to talk," Céleste said suddenly, gesturing the dressmaker to go away. When the latter had exited, she turned boldly towards Soliman, who was smirking at her.

"I'm not married with you yet," Céleste snapped. "I could tell you to leave now."

Innerly, she scolded herself. Frankly, she had absolutely no valid reason to tell him to leave…

But his smile only became wider.

"Very well… anyway, the Angel of Death is waiting for me to come back…"

"No!" she let out impulsively, but too late.

"No what?" he replied. He immediately stood in front of her, standing in a way he seemed even taller and larger. But Céleste simply gritted her teeth.

"You don't scare me," she simply said.

"Well, I must say I do wonder how I would be able to scare you," Soliman simply replied, before leaving the room.

As a matter of seconds, the dressmaker came back, continuing her job. Soliman did not return. And Céleste, who would have normally felt relieved of his departure, just trembled at the idea that he might have gone back to Erik…

_Why have I just stood up to him? He'll just hurt Erik to revenge. _

_Conceal, show nothing. That's how a lady must behave, serene, accepting, smiling. _

She was in her bedroom now, her door shut, sitting on her bed, her chin leaned on her knees while her arms circled her legs. A not very lady-like posture, but Céleste couldn't care less.

"Mademoiselle? Something has arrived from the Sacré-Coeur convent." Said a maid across the door.

Immediately, Céleste rushed towards the door, seeing the bag she had taken with her a few weeks ago when she had run away with Erik and, more especially, the violin. For a moment, she couldn't believe that she had actually forgotten about it…

She opened the case, then gently caressed the strings, smiling at the thought that it was the only thing that she had from Erik…

She probably wouldn't be able to bring it, once she would get married.

She glanced outside, by the window, surprised to see how white it was outside. A snowstorm. She had never seen such a big one since… a very long time, actually. The streets were deserted, and not even a beggar seemed to be suffering in the street. Well, that was in appearance. To be frank, it was hard to see the houses around, to the point Céleste even wondered if she wasn't imprisoned in some kingdom of isolation, where she was the chained queen, the wind howling as a way of mocking her.

_Conceal, show nothing. That's how a lady must behave, serene, acceptant, smiling. _

_Is that what you have done, you foolish girl?_

_No! But Heaven knows I've tried! _

_Don't let them in. _

_Don't let them see. _

_Be the good girl, you always have to be. _

_Conceal. _

_Don't feel. _

_Don't let them know. _

_And now? _

_Well, congratulations, they know. _

_What's left to do? _

Pebbles repeatedly thrown on her window finally woke her. Immediately, reinvigorated enough to get out of her dreamless sleep and lighten up by the wild hope it was Erik, she got up, rushing towards the window and opening it, seeing at the same time the storm was over, giving place a cloudless night, but that the winter breeze was chillier than ever.

But immediately, when she saw Soliman in the street, she immediately frowned.

"May I know, sir, why you wish to speak to me at such an hour?"

"Simply, mademoiselle, where is the Angel of Death?"

A fit of victory immediately filled Céleste, despite Soliman's threatening tone. Erik had escaped.

It was silly of her of worrying for him, anyway…

And now, she was almost sure of seeing him surge from somewhere, anytime now…

"I haven't seen him yet," Céleste replied boldly.

This seemed to be too much for Soliman. Immediately, he gestured to someone who was still in the carriage. Soon, one of his brutes came out, dragging with him a silhouette – a human body, dead or alive, Céleste couldn't tell. As she tried to have a better glance despite the dark, she finally saw the provocative clothing, proper to a prostitute, easily recognizable to a lady so she would immediately turn away her chaste gaze with disgust.

But this time, the clothing was all covered in blood.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice suddenly frail.

"Simply, my love, this is what will happen to you… if you don't behave. But don't worry: I am determined to be soft… if you permit me."

Céleste had seen enough. She slammed the window, pulling the curtains, and collapsed on her bed, bringing the sheets around her as a futile way of protecting herself.

She was scared, now.

And, for the first time since a very long time, she cried.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Things are getting angsty for Céleste! Let's just hope Erik comes in soon! *evil grin* And today is Give-Christine-A-Hug Day. Just, seriously, after reading this chapter, don't come and tell me you don't want to give Christine a hug. Just, if you're a guy, don't do it for too long. Raoul might just come and get you. Well, actually guaranteed he WILL. **

**And… has anyone recongnized **_**Let It Go**_** making its way through the paragraphs? ;) **

**Finally, I have a special request: my birthday is comin' soon, and… I know I'm asking big, but… it would be great if I could get to 50 favs, 70 follows (and oh gawd, I can't believe I'm asking this) and… 200 reviews. For mid-October. Because, well, I don't know if I'll be able to post until then. So for mid-October, it would be nice to come in and see my 200 reviews… or more. Tee-hee. (still can't believe I'm asking this… sheesh.) **

**Answers to reviews:**

**InYuJi: **Yup, Soliman just can't handle Céleste indeed XD Gosh, the thought of it just makes me laugh so hard XD

**EvaAuthor: **I know XD It reminds me of that post on Tumblr saying that when your favorite character kills someone, all you can do is just say: "Aw" And unfortunately, it's pretty much the case with us phangirls… *sigh* But I hope to see a bit of your story soon! ;)

**PhantomFan01: **Swoon, that's the word ;P Well, that was pretty much my reaction when I watched the 25th anniversary and that Ramin had that evil laugh before saying the so-famous: "Behold! She's singing to bring down the chandelier!" Seriously, why didn't Gerik have an evil laugh? Oh, I know why. I would be dead of sexiness overdose by now. *out*

**michellecarriveau: **Great, aren't they? XD And… for the punjie… you'll see. ;P (just see my evil grin)

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Thrown away as worthless? Oh gosh, that movie is just so underrated… I mean, yes, it isn't perfect, but especially compared to the 25th anniversary, it just receives way too much hate… I mean, the 25th anniversary edition was good n'all, but it honestly isn't THAT awesome. I won't start ranting about it. That will be for another time.

Huh… wait. Did the part "It wasn't a forced kiss, given by a girl at first trembling of fear, then melting into a muddle of pity for poor, unhappy Erik, condemned to live forever in the shadows." really sounded Mary-Sue-ish? Because, well, if it is, I'll change it… because, well, it was meant for Christine… *awkward grin*

Yes, probably Céleste would have slapped Erik… but I think his first reaction would have been that he would have been quite dumbfounded and not realizing right away what is going on… I mean, _who_ ever slapped Erik? After that, well… it wouldn't be too pretty indeed.

I honestly don't see Erik becoming 100% alright with Christine and Raoul and everything at this state. I think he still has a _very_ long way to go before accepting that. (That's why I say that the colored rose at the end of the movie isn't the sign of Erik's or Erik and Christine's never-dying love, but really a sign of forgiveness. He has finally accepted that Raoul and Christine ended up together, and he gave up Christine's ring at the same time. After all, it _was _the only thing left from her… the dummy but aside XD) And he can't go into self-loathing like he does often in phanfics: because, well, with Céleste, Erik is obliged to keep himself at her level… It's true that Christine could have done worse with the Phantom during PONR… But still, unmasking Erik wasn't really the smartest thing to do, and it was cruel… But I understand why she did it, and I honestly can't hate her for that like many phangirls do. And… well, it explains here why I have a bit of trouble imagining Erik whining after Christine during ten long years. I mean, I have never seen Erik ranting about his sucktastic past except in really intense moments (the Final Lair… and even then, he stays pretty evasive), and he actually wants to seemingly forget about it as a matter of survival. That's part of Erik's "strength", if I can call it like that: if he did keep a bit of sanity (and I say "a bit"), it's mainly because he consciously forgot the bad parts of his life and refused to dip in remorse…

And yes, the untamed horse and the backing away in terror was deliberate… Gosh, I have hidden genius! *out*

But yes, I have to develop the Khanum/Soliman relationship a bit… it is a very important part about how Soliman is and everything…

And what I meant about "sacred vows" is that Céleste, if she is married to Soliman, will never elope with Erik. It would be a sacrilege to her, since she did promise on the altar to stay with Soliman…

I really wanted Erik's realization of his love for Céleste and Céleste's love for him to be tranquil, and hopeful. You know, I often say that if Christine did love the Phantom, he wouldn't have been that desperate after her departure in the end. Because, well, he can always hope she will come back… and knowing Erik, I'm sure that if Christine did love him, and if Raoul was still an obstacle of some sort, he would have gone after her. Like Erik will do with Céleste. ;) (And I will also add that, well, Christine is a grown woman who, despite all her weak-willed little lost puppy attitude, knows what she wants, and who has made her choice once and for all, and she chose Raoul. No need to bring it back with LND. I would say that even for the movie, because, well, I believe PONR is actually the symbolism of Christine finally becoming an adult and DOING something to help herself. And she decided to choose Raoul, even if that means hurting Erik. It's better for everyone's sake.)

I think I'll insert that Amir does know that Erik is behind all that mischief… though, when you think of it, in the general hysteria, it isn't really the time of going on Sherlock Holmes mode… But I'm considering it.

Isn't Erik adorable when he punjabs? *outta here* And yes, thankfully, the Daroga isn't as harsh as Erik is…

And thank you SO MUCH for the little suggestions you gave for Herr Schmidt and La Parilla… they really helped!

I haven't seen the Raoul vs Christine duel yet… I will, though. ;)

**Aria of Life: **FINALLY A FANFICTION ACCOUNT. Congrats. XD

I never got to see the POTO version with Charles Dance, though God knows I want to. Everyone is telling me how awesome Cherik is and everything, so… I mean, seriously, Charles Dance is one of the coolest old guys out there. And I'm praying everyday so that he can come as the Master versus Capaldi's Doctor, along with my prayers so Romana can come back as well. I mean, just imagine it.

I personally don't think one of the reasons Raoul loves Christine is because she sings well. That's more Erik's thing. I think Raoul simply loves Christine for who she is, while Erik loves the ideal Christine represents. I hate it when people say he's shallow and everything, because clearly it isn't the case. And well, for his hair in the movie, I'll tell you a secret: it's actually anachronistic. I mean, in 1870, NO ONE (and I say: NO ONE) had a hairstyle like that. Not even the "real" fops back then.

But yes, Erik could also get matched up with someone who's genuinely good. That's why I love the morality in POTO so much, and that I always complain that Kay and ALW in _Love Never Dies_ totally destroyed it. I mean, Erik didn't get any good from anyone in his entire life except Mme Giry in the movie, but we don't get much of their backstory, to be honest. And even in his love-obsession for Christine, he didn't know how to do it right. In Leroux, Erik literally treated her like a living doll, and seemingly didn't know everything that marriage implied (like, for example, I don't think he actually ever considered sex with her). That's why I just have shivers when I see an E/C Leroux-based story. And in ALW, this even more emphasized in the movie, Erik loved Christine like you love a faraway idol. And it's only when Christine agrees to stay with Erik, blowing up her life in order to save Raoul (and in the musical, kissing him) that finally, Erik understands what kindness, generosity and true love is. In Kay, the authoress implies that Christine, since she insisted so much in going back to Erik, didn't just feel pity or fear, but "love of the most exquisite kind, the kind which people do not admit even to themselves". I personally don't think so, because simply, Christine is goodness made in person, and she does genuinely feel sorry for Erik, but it's plain obvious that she loves Raoul. And anyway, in Kay, Christine is just a total airhead who goes whining after Raoul on the rooftop simply to make Erik jealous because he's too clingy on his cat. Also, well, Erik does not learn anything from Christine. It's the opposite. And to me, Susan Kay, while wanting to remain as faithful as possible to the Leroux plotline for what is of Erik's past, instead of just stopping her story at the beginning of Leroux's novel, she continued, even modifying the story for the pleasure of E/C phangirls, and destroying the extremely important morality of "To love is to let go.". And finally, to resume everything, the mentality back in 1910, the year where the book was published, would have no one wanting Erik to have Christine. Just look at the silent film with Lon Chaney. Originally, the Phantom was going to die of love, but people hated that ending so much they had the mob killing him instead (and believe me, everyone was happy with that!)

Gosh, what a rant. But, back to my story… it isn't as evident as Christine, but Céleste is genuinely good as well, and Erik is impressed by her. She has a sense of duty that simply exceeds him, and despite her original appearance – icy, unfriendly, arrogant – she is really a nice girl, she's good with kids (just look at Clémence), and she is genuinely concerned about Erik. Only, she won't really show it. Like I believe that Erik does have a beautiful nature. You just have to know how to handle him right. ;) So all that to say that basically, Erik and Céleste have the same soul, only gone on different variations.

Peter Capaldi… OMG. I didn't know old guys could be that awesomesauce. Darker and edgier than Ten and Eleven, but still sort of adorable in his own way. Poor guy, I think he got the worst regeneration trauma ever XD Thank god Romana isn't around, because she sure regenerated like a boss XD And seriously, I just love the relationship between him and Clara. No flirt like with Eleven, of course, but they really do complete each other very well. And yes, I'm a member of Peter Capaldi's eyebrows fanclub since _The Day of the Doctor_.

Well, Erik is a thirty-five-year-old guy and still a virgin *giggles immaturely à la Homer Simpson*, and being a guy, he does have urges… And you know, human touch is a sign of love. And I can't help thinking of the first unmasking in the movie: Christine caresses Erik's face just before unmasking him, and while it lasts, well, Erik seems to rather enjoy it ;)

And yup, for now, Céleste seems in control. For now. Mwahahaha.


	30. Chapter 29

**A/N: The little anecdote about Ivan IV and architect Yakovlev is a true story. Creepy as heck. But true.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 29<strong>

She had said nothing about the horror she had seen, of course.

It was useless, anyway. She preferred dying than to tell it to Philippe, Christine was far too innocent despite her being a wife and a soon-to-be mother, and Raoul… He was her little brother, still a little boy, somehow, and to talk about it felt as much as a sacrilege to talk about it at Christine. Like the latter, he was a husband, and a soon-to-be father, but he was in Céleste's eyes a child married to a child.

The next day, for the first few hours, Céleste was nothing more than a shadow, moving like a specter around a house, dismal, avoiding any contact with anyone. And then, slowly, her old self had come back, like some sort of self-defense: her posture had become straighter than ever, her voice sharp and icy, her expression distant.

Raoul, of course, had noticed the change. Philippe had too much on his mind to detect such a thing, so to say. But the vicomte could feel the contrast between the Céleste he had seen previously, when he was peeking in Christine's room, when the two of them were chatting about everything and nothing, and the Céleste he could see now, the same Céleste he had known a few months ago.

She had changed at first – and for the better. Raoul wondered how. Well, the only new factor in Céleste's life susceptible of having some sort of influence was actually the Phantom; and still, the vicomte refused to believe it was the case. Now, really…

Still, it seemed like the only explanation.

He hesitated, before knocking on the door of Céleste's room. Raoul had almost the impression it was barricaded, like if it was linked to its mistress' moods. When finally, a voice snapped: "Come in", Raoul felt like a little boy, more than ever, despite that he repeated to himself that Céleste was only three years his elder.

"Raoul," she simply said, when he entered, stooding so straight it was almost unnatural.

"Céleste…" the vicomte started awkwardly. The only sentence that came to him was "Are you fine?" but obviously, it was a more than silly question. Of course, she wasn't just fine.

"What do you want?"

Her icy tone, instead of annihilating every hope of him displaying credibility, only gave him more boldness. Only God knew how, he said to himself.

"Can't you just tell me what's wrong? You… you just totally changed mood. You don't even go and talk to Christine."

"So what? And why do you want to know? I get married, and you, you just get your happy ending with your lovely wife and your lovely baby and expect to get a dozen more."

Immediately, Céleste bit her lips and lowered her head in some sort of shame. Really, she didn't mean to speak so freely…

But somehow, Raoul understood every meaning of what she had just said.

Really, why couldn't Céleste get her happy ending?

_Happy ending… talk about a happy ending. _

Uneasier than ever, Raoul closed the door behind him, cleared his throat, and wished for a moment that he could swap his body with Philippe's.

"Why did you kiss him, well… you know… hmm?"

_Just say something, Céleste, for Heaven's sake! I don't even know why I've even asked this! _

But Céleste saw the worried, desperate expression on Raoul's face, and immediately scolded herself for speaking so harshly and showing her anger and jealousy so openly. She might as well tell him. She deserved it.

"I… I just wanted to show him that despite his distortion, it would change nothing…" she said simply. "That's all. And… I just didn't know how to tell him. It's the first thing that came to me… It frightened me, really…"

_But I wanted it. _

Yes, she had wanted it, in her subconscious, when she would unwillingly study the features visible on his face, sometimes paying more attention to his lips before shaking herself out of her reverie, uneasy about the fact she had maybe commited a sin of lust in thought – though, to be frank, she wasn't quite sure of what they consisted, since she had never had received much… detail on the subject. But could the guilt of such an action consist in her stomach doing funny things unexpectedly, when she came back on good, solid Earth? Probably. Her stomach didn't do that in other times.

It did the same when he would touch her, in a seemingly modest way, just by holding her hand to show her something on the violin. She could feel his nervousness, only increasing her own. And when it was all over, she was surprised of, and scolded herself for wanting more.

Society demanded a certain distance between a man and a lady.

Now, Céleste understood fully why, and she was forever grateful for it.

But it was still there. Sometimes, at night, she would remember how his lips had touched her forehead, about a month ago, and how she had kissed him, later.

She wanted it to happen again.

And in the worst times, she even wanted more, though she wasn't quite sure of what more _really_ meant. She wanted more, until she would shove it away with an act of contrition and three Ave Maria for chastity of heart and mind.

But it would come back. Again and again.

"So… you love him." Raoul said impulsively.

"Yes," Céleste said roughly, the truth jumping to her face once again, and somehow furious that it was Raoul, above all people, who would tell her that. Erik, who had caused Raoul and Christine so much pain…

"Strange, isn't it?" she continued, almost certain of her brother's answer.

"No, I mean… Well, I can't really say I'm entirely all right with this, not at all, so to say." Raoul blushed even more and more. No, knowing that the Phantom had fallen in love with his own sister, above all people, and that she loved him as well was a bit too much indeed… "But, you know, with me marrying Christine, while you would have certainly expected me to marry someone of my rank…"

"That just doesn't compare, Raoul," Céleste replied coldly.

"I know," Raoul answered, somehow more calm and confident. "Only… I don't blame you for anything."

A tender smile couldn't help but show itself on Céleste's lips.

"Thank you," she said, her voice almost shaking.

She wished she could tell him. She wished she could.

But Raoul was just as powerless as she was.

And Céleste de Chagny, always in so perfect control of herself, broke into sobs, hiding her face in her hands in shame.

Raoul didn't feel so little anymore.

He remembered how his sister had given him courage during that storm, when they were nothing more than little children.

Now, it was his turn, he said to himself as he hugged her tightly, and as she clung to him, pushing away all sort of self-discipline.

* * *

><p>She most certainly seemed to be impressed, once and for all, so to say.<p>

This was just the beginning, anyway.

Without doubt, it didn't break her entirely. It would be a shame if it did happen.

He was disposed to be soft with her… of course, if she let him.

And that part wouldn't be that easy.

Especially that the Angel of Death had seemingly bewitched her.

Bewitched? Probably, it wasn't the case. She seemed in full control of her capacities. Though he did wonder how Céleste de Chagny could find some charm in such distortion.

His mother did, though. She had an attraction to anything being vile and morbid. And, since his childhood, she had conditioned him to see things that way.

He knew his mother despised his older brother, though she never showed it: she was the Khanum, and her situation as mother of the Shadow of God gave her some power that a simple harem girl could never hope to have, unless she married the Shah, became his favorite and most especially, gave him the heir to the throne.

And so Anouar had made her way, with seemingly her eyes circled with long eyelashes as only weapons, but she made her way, and not in the most orthodox manner, managing to give the late Shah a boy in all points similar to his father: the same weakness, but at the same time, stubbornness in the most ridiculous and insignificant things. Well, she had to admit this would mean golden days for her. She had, despite her dislike for the eldest, managed to make him so dependant of her he was as malleable as clay. Oh, of course, he would never admit openly the ascendence his mother had on him.

The boy that had come in after was, however, her son in every way.

But then, the rising would be a lot more difficult.

Soliman was intelligent. Certainly intelligent enough to realize his elder's idiocy, certainly intelligent to overthrown him in some way or another, and, at the same time, get rid of his mother who would immediately appear to him way too power-greedy for his taste.

But, in her ascension, the Khanum didn't have to deal with only her late husband and elder son, but with the entire Manzanderan court. And, from her very young age, she knew she wasn't like the other girls. She had something they didn't have. Genius? Maybe. Though she couldn't really call it like that.

Quickly, she had shown Soliman that superiority she had on other women. She had quickly understood that mothers are, anyway, not like the other women, in a child's eye, and so she explored that path more than intensively. She taught him everything she knew, willing to destroy everything she, in her standards, considered as a weakness.

And the Angel of Death, lost in the tsunami she would create within him by the hashish she forced him to take and how she made him even enter the Hashashins' brotherhood (though he was a rather "special" member, he being pretty much entirely at her service, to be frank), had just easen the task.

Then, of course, came the time where he knew too much.

Soliman had made the observation himself, when the palace he had built for the Shah was finished.

That cursed Daroga had managed to break his hashish dependence – the Khanum, thanks to all the information she got, knew it very well. And the more the time went, the more the Angel of Death was getting off her grasp.

Erik had realized that the state where he was, in an apparent situation of power given by fear, was nothing more than another masquerade, where he was in the end nothing more than an oddity put on display. And he didn't bothered in showing, less and less subtly as the time passed by, that he didn't quite appreciate the current situation.

Soliman had read stories about great sovereigns. One of them was Ivan IV the Terrible, czar of all Russias, the first czar to really govern by his own, without all the boyards or noblemen sharing the power…

But the most fascinating anecdote about his reign was the construction of the famous Saint-Basile cathedral. Famous for its beauty, its beauty so grand the czar even had the architect Yakovlev made blind so never such a thing should be surpassed or even equaled in beauty…

And here, Soliman couldn't help but compare Erik's case to Yakovlev's.

But to the Angel of Death, he wouldn't be as merciful as the czar had been, for he had been more than offensive to the true Shadow of God.

Finally getting out of his thoughts, Soliman turned lazily to Ines Parilla, too occupied in contemplating the mask he had brought her than to continue in the line of the motive why Soliman had visited her in the first place.

"So… is he dead now?" she finally asked.

Well, he obviously couldn't tell her _he had actually escaped. _

"No." he simply replied. "Not yet."

La Parilla smiled, her tongue seemingly more appearant than ever thanks to the space between her two front teeth.

"I still don't know what to do with it. It looks nice and decorative, but… I could give that to Schmidt as a farewell gift. I just told the old fat _burro_ yesterday I wanted to have nothing to do with him anymore."

"With your usual charmingness, of course. But siñorita, you have no idea of what I've suffered to retrieve it from you, and now you're giving it to my former rival?" Soliman teased.

"At least permit me to let him touch it," La Parilla giggled. "He'll certainly feel some sort of vibration!"

Silence installed itself, while the prima donna bit her lip somehow sensually before continuing:

"Now… I've heard of your marriage with the Chagny girl. A proud little pest, that is! But that will change nothing between us, _mi amor_, hmm?" she added, almost moaning more than she was speaking, putting her arms around Soliman's neck, her wide smile showing how much she was absolutely certain of the answer.

"Well, siñorita… I came here to give you the mask… as a gift of farewell."

Immediately, without even a glance at La Parilla, Soliman got up and made his way out of her dressing-room. Closing the door behind him, everyone around, however, was able to hear the prima donna's cries of rage, while she was throwing pillows everywhere, biting them, breaking vases and even smashing her mirror.

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><p><strong>AN: I promise. Next chapter will be the wedding. *evil grin* I know this chapter was short, and it really didn't have much happening in it, but it was necessary. And I needed to have my little Raoul/Céleste brother/sister moment. **

**Still waiting for my 50 favs, 70 follows and 200 reviews… Please? *puppy eyes***

**Answers to reviews: **

**michellecarriveau: **I wonder what is most awaited for my story. Soliman dying or Erik and Céleste… *sigh* Well, I do cross my fingers to get to 200 reviews! And thanks!

**InYuJi: **Mmm, I never thought of Soliman as some sort of man-child… True. Especially when you know Erik *is* a man-child as well… Weird parallels… (GET THEM OUT OF MY MIND) And yeah, Erik really has a way of turning things in a way to annoy the person he wants to annoy… XD

**PhantomFan01: **Céleste? Suffering? Nonsense. She's just… yeah, suffering. *sigh*

**Aria of Life: **Seriously, I don't understand why NO ONE is talking about John Barrowman as Raoul. I mean, guys, IT'S JOHN BARROWMAN. Though, I also know Hadley Fraser did make an appearance in Series Two of _Doctor Who_. His character was working for Torchwood, I think *needs to go and see Series Two again, even if that means seeing Rose Tyler totally degenerating and me cyring like a baby at the end of half the episodes and squealing whenever Sarah Jane Smith blinks*

Well… Ten has his hair you just wanted to ruffle, Eleven had his bowtie and his fez, and Twelve… has his eyebrows. XD And yeah, Moffat is sadistic. He kills Rory all the time, Amy and Rory… Oh god. Just look at how it ended for him. And I don't want to imagine how it's going to end up for Clara (especially that if she continues being that awesome, she might just become my favorite NewWho companion just after Donna). Though, I will stop shouting at him when he'll manage to bring back Romana, the Valeyard and Ace (because Ace WAS supposed to come back, well, that is, in the Sarah Jane Adventures, but sadly, Elisabeth Sladen passed away before…)

I'm so glad you like Céleste's character development and that you find it believable! *big sigh of relief* And yeah, let's get Soliman to eat a big bowl of Leroux!Erik's toenails. Mwahahahaha.

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thanks! ;)

**EvaAuthor: **Phangirls rock, ain't they? XD But don't worry, me = happy ending, so… yeah. ;)

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **I wasn't exactly drooling either on John Barrowman's performance. Of course, he has a beautiful voice, but I'm still not drooling… XD And I admit I didn't really like Claire Moore's Christine… She would make a good Eponine, in my opinion (if she didn't already… I'm too lazy to do research), but… not for Christine's role. Clearly, for LND, we would have had an abusive Raoul, though _Devil Takes the Hindmost _would have been really interesting with him…

I know what you mean about the name "Laurence". Just to give you an idea, when Louisa May Alcott's _Little Women_ was translated from English to French, Laurence's name was changed to Laurentz, since it was considered too feminine…

Aliénor stills sounds too regal. I'm thinking of Aliénor d'Aquitaine here… *sigh*

Oh yes, I can really just picture Erik's real name being something really ridiculous like Gontran or Thimoléon, him really hating it and changing it into Erik (which is waaaay cooler, especially when you know the hidden meaning…)!

I think Erik was more human around Céleste than around Christine for the simple and good reason that, from the beginning, Céleste made it very clear that she simply didn't take all the O.G. show-off. And on the other side, Erik will not let himself dominate by Céleste, even if that means sassing her around a bit just so she can shut her mouth a second. ;) With Christine, however, it was different. He continues playing his O.G. persona around her for the simple and good reason that when she's all alone, without Raoul to bring her back on solid Earth, it _works_. But it just isn't real, and I think that eventually, if we would have had an E/C ending to POTO, this simple aspect would have caused major problems… (and of course, he would have certainly NEVER shown his warped jokes around his precious Angel!)

"he'll provoke the end of the world" – what I meant here is that Erik, while trying desperately to win Christine, has taken pretty extreme measures. Now, knowing that Céleste loves him back, and that she is not happy in her current situation… what will he be able to do?

About the sneezing… well, in every action movie, the heroes are discovered by the villains because the idiot in the gang sneezed (or tries to take off a finger from a rotting corpse and makes it fall through some sort of well like what happened to poor Pippin Took) XD

Erik using Meg and Alexandre was a bit of way to have his revenge from Mme Giry bossing him around… *sigh* Pretty extreme. Also, Meg slipping about the torture is mostly because she's fed up with Erik treating her like a little girl. But of course, she really didn't want her mother or Alexandre to be aware of it… She knows she is their berserk button ;)

AND WHAT'S YOUR THING WITH CAT-BURGLARS FOR PETE'S SAKE?! (because seriously, the only people that *could* be ninjas in a crack-fic would be Erik and Mme Giry…)

Well, at least they spelled Raoul right XD Seriously, I'm so tired of seeing Raoul spelled either Ral, Raul, Rool, Raool, and so on and so forth… But "vicomte" is a French word, and since, when you go to Ottawa in Canada (supposedly the capital of a French and English country… though the city, though there are English-speaking and French-speaking people, still isn't officially bilingual…), you can't even have proper bilingual translations on bus maps, don't expect much from a DVD translation… I'm in that city right now, so I know what I'm talking about.

Well, I thought the usual Mary-Sue reaction was while seeing the disfigurement: "Oh, it's not that bad" and then has a ten-minute-length kiss with him (therefore breaking the previous record with Christine's kiss lasting for five minutes)…

Soliman will be obliged to have a Catholic wedding for Céleste, since in another religion, the wedding wouldn't be acknowledged as valid. And another ceremony, more private, with an imam presiding and everything will take place ;) Anyway, Muslim men can marry Christian women, but not the other way round ;) (And I can just imagine Céleste's reaction to a Muslim wedding ceremony: don't want to sound racist, but there is a question where the bride is asked if she lets her husband practically rape her anyday, anytime – and of course, she has to answer yes…)

**Question of the day: So… now I feel like asking you… have you ever seen POTO on stage? If so, which cast? How was it? **


	31. Chapter 30

**A/N: And here comes the wedding! MWAHAHAHA! No, I will not say more. Just read before shooting flames at me. Tee-hee. **

**So… little parenthesis. Have you heard Michael Ball singing **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**? Really, you really wonder **_**why the heck**_** he still hasn't played the Phantom yet… Seriously, he literally made my ovaries explode. Which is good. The only other who managed to do that was Ramin Karimloo. Then, since I'm insane, I had a dream where Michael Ball had dubbed Gerard Butler for the singing in the movie and I just woke up whining: "WHY JESUS WHY!?" Okay, not that I have an absolute horror for Gerard Butler's singing voice like most phans do (even, I think he would have made a good Javert for the Les Mis movie), but… I won't start ranting about Gerard Butler's singing voice, but personally, they could have hired a professional singer for the role like they did for Carlotta. Because, well, the Phantom's role is just so iconic! **

**And finally, little disclaimer: I don't own anything coming from **_**Doctor Who**_**. If you get the Who reference here, a temple of brownies for you! **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 30<strong>

She had slid her arm around Philippe's almost defiantly, her face icy and closed. Her paleness was the only indication of her terror. Céleste was naturally pale, but now, the color of her face, the only visible element of her body, was almost blending in with her white dress, in which she seemed almost trapped with the high collar, long sleeves, and tight gloves, and caught in the cage of her wedding veil. She gripped her rose bouquet with her free hand, her eyes firmly starring at the ground, not wanting to see the faces of the people she knew and especially not Soliman's. Well, the only face she felt like seeing right now was Raoul's. Christine, because of her state, could not attend the wedding.

Céleste remembered how she had entered Christine's bedroom, one last time, as Céleste de Chagny. Her sister-in-law tried to display an encouraging, brave smile, but burst into tears and hugged her convulsively, promising to pray her Daddy Daaé for her.

"He will help you, I know he will! He helped me as well!" she had wept.

Céleste, despite all her faith, doubted.

Everything in the morning had passed like in a dream. She had awoken, refusing to eat the food tray brought to her as breakfast, letting herself get all primped up like a living doll without a word. She was silent, yes. But it was all to forbid herself to rip her veil, skirt and bodice in rage because of her powerlessness in such a situation.

And also, the fact that now, she was all alone to face Soliman.

No Philippe, no Raoul to stand near her, now.

_And no Erik. _

She scorned herself for her helplessness. Where was the Céleste who had believed she could manage or her own?

Maybe this was her funeral.

She tried to mentally block her ears, as the organ started to play a nuptial march. The organ. Erik would "bang on it like if it was Judgment Day". This simple expression would make him frown and say that her "squealing on the violin" wasn't any better, to have Céleste replying that _he _was her violin teacher, and supposedly a genius one, and therefore, if she was "squealing", it was his fault, and this "squealing" just proved that he wasn't that much of a genius after all. Erik would tighten his jaw, then mutter something going around the lines of "Watch your words, you vixen" in a threatening tone, making Céleste triumphantly smile since she knew she had won… until Erik, who refused to admit that he was vanquished in any way, would see her go and would start digging his head for an idea to win the next round against her.

She couldn't think of Erik. Not now.

In the two weeks following their separation, she had received no sign of life from him.

Soliman couldn't have killed him. If he had killed him, she would have known.

Unless, by some sort of sadism, he wanted her to suffer until she was past the point of no return.

The music was playing too quickly. Philippe and she were walking too quickly.

_Too quickly, too quickly. _

The noise of the doors of the church opening – no, bursting open covered the sound of the organ, making everyone jump and look at the back of the church.

And, in the doorway, the Phantom of the Opera, and not Erik, was standing there, menacing from head to toe, his cape swirling around him, his cat-like eyes piercing every face in the assembly before stopping in Céleste's direction, his wicked smile becoming even wider.

"I came here to claim my bride," he announced, his voice low and almost growling, but loud enough so everyone could hear it and shiver at the tone and words. Already, Soliman and Philippe were gesturing to go towards him despite the two of them being unarmed, but immediately, Erik pointed a gun in their direction, and even in the direction of people in the assembly, giving the impression that he wouldn't be afraid of shooting some innocent if needed. With his free hand, he handed it out slowly towards Céleste, like some gesture to summon her.

And so, before anyone could react, quickly, but in a hesitating, sleepwalk-like manner, gesturing a protective hand towards to dumbfounded Philippe, Raoul and Soliman as a way of saving the appearances and not looking too willing of going with the Phantom, just in case they would fail, she headed towards him, lifting up her veil with her spare hand so promptly it was almost comical, her wide eyes emphasizing it even more. Everything seemed so unreal to her: she didn't know if she should jump in Erik's arms and thank him to come and save her, or yell at him for taking so long and… No, the second option was better. She was going to have a very, very good _little talk_ with him.

As soon as Céleste made gesture to take his free hand, the Phantom, almost carelessly, took her up in his free arm like if she weighted nothing, his gun still pointed towards potential adversaries. He then headed with her towards the rope for the bells, then, at lightning speed, put his gun away to take out a knife to cut the rope and, dropping the weapon on the ground grip a half of it while the counterbalance sent both of them soaring into the dusty church air, while Céleste, retaining herself from shrieking, found herself gripping on Erik even more and burrying her face in his neck without quite realizing it. The eau de Cologne fragrance once again brought her once again disturbing thoughts that her anger quickly shove away.

Oh yes, they were going to have a very, very good _little talk_!

They finally arrived at the top, and Erik helped Céleste onto a small ledge hidden from view where they would be safe for a while. Below the men were bursting into action. They had time. The situation was at their advantage. Erik then turned to Céleste, triumphant, when he saw the very, very fuming look on her face.

To be honest, he hadn't expected that.

"What exactly where you doing?" she asked, her tone icier than he had ever heard it.

Absolutely unintimidated, he replied: "I came to save you. Aren't you happy?" he added with a smirk, which achieved of infuriating Céleste.

"Happy. Happy? HAPPY?! NO! You… you…"

"I what?" Erik asked, crossing his arms and feeling his own patience going thin, retaining himself from adding some mysoginist remark.

"DO YOU REALIZE IT'S BEEN TWO WEEKS SINCE I HAVE LAST SEEN YOU? TWO WEEKS, ERIK, TWO WEEKS! I KNEW YOU HAD ESCAPED, BUT I HAD NO IDEA WHERE YOU WERE AND IF YOU WERE GOING TO COME TO ME!"

"Well, at least I'm here now," Erik stated, calmly, almost rolling his eyes and ignoring her angry tone as much as he could.

"OH, SO MÔSSIEUR WANTED TO PLAY OPERA GHOST IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FUNERAL WEDDING JUST FOR THE DRAMA?"

Erik did not answer, and only starred darkly at Céleste. She sighed, exasperated, retaining herself not to scream of rage.

"WELL I'LL TELL YOU ONE THING! YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE OF RESPONSIBILITY WHATSOEVER!"

"WHAT?" Erik snapped.

"YOU ARE CAPRICIOUS, ARROGANT, SELF-OPINIONATED, IRRATIONAL, AND… and… and… I BET YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" At each epithet, she would poke Erik's chest with her index, angrily. He didn't like that. At all. He took her by the shoulders, and shook her angrily.

"WELL, WOMAN, I'LL RETAIN MYSELF FROM SAYING THE SAME OF YOU! I THINK I SHOULD HAVE JUST ABANDONED YOU THERE AND LET YOU SORT YOURSELF OUT ON YOUR OWN! YOU CAN SAY AS MUCH AS YOU WANT THAT I'M IRRATIONAL, BUT YOU'RE EVEN WORSE THAN ME!"

Céleste slapped away his hands from her shoulders. The two of them were both gloved, and though Erik's shoved away, they didn't receive as much pain as she would have wished them to.

"_ALORS ALORS ALORS!_ HA! I'LL TELL YOU ONE THING I DON'T UNDERSTAND: YOUR BIG, FAT, HEAD!"

"I BEG YOUR PARDON?! AND ANYWAY, SHUT THE HELL UP, BECAUSE DON'T COME AND WHINE AT ME THAT SOLIMAN HURT YOU IN ANY WAY, BECAUSE I'M CERTAIN YOUR BROTHERS KEPT YOU ALL LOCKED UP DURING THOSE TWO WEEKS!"

"WELL THAT CERTAINLY WON'T HOLD HIM FROM SHOWING A MUTILATED HARLOT AT MY WINDOW!"

Immediately, Céleste retained herself from having hand flinging to her mouth, ashamed that that so horrid memory had escaped from her mouth. She didn't want Erik to know. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't.

"You can't be serious," Erik simply stated, his voice disturbingly flat.

Céleste simply lowered her head, her anger all worn off, replaced by an almost nervous, close-to-hysterical trembling of her hands.

"So that's what it took to scare you. I'm impressed."

"SHUT IT!" she screamed, feeling her lumps burn at the same time, like if her soul had tried to get out at the same time.

"Shush. People will hear you if they didn't already."

"Oh, that's all you have to say? You yelled as well, by the way. No, you don't understand, Erik. I didn't know if you were dead or alive, and… I even came to wonder if you just had forgotten all about me!"

This was too much for Erik. He grabbed her wrists, furiously.

"Don't you ever say that again! How dare you think I had deserted you? Really… do you think so low of me?" In his last sentence, his rage had dropped, leaving place to an almost pleading, mournful tone. Céleste felt a sting cross her heart. Disturbing. It wasn't time to be all nice with Erik.

"No… it's just… really, Erik, you could have just told me you were alive and running and that you were planning to throw up a bit of melodrama! Anyway, having a gun sure is a way of showing you're some spirit! (Erik's eyes rolled.) And seriously, you could have just come and fetch me before!"

"Wait… Are you telling me… you want to run away?" He didn't dare to add "with me". It was just too much for him. Well, that was what he was planning, to run away with her. But that she was willing to do so before…

He had imagined that she would eventually follow him. He knew that reluctance would still be there, due to her upbringing. But to hear it from her mouth…

Even, Céleste herself was surprised of what she had just said. But yes. She wanted to run away, now. Her only regret, now that she thought about it, was that she was going to leave Raoul, Christine and her future niece or nephew behind. For what was of Philippe… she had already deceived him, anyway. It still pained her greatly. But the damage was done.

They both innerly chuckled. It was sort of inevitable, in the situation, anyway…

"I'm sorry."

"What?" Céleste turned to Erik, still not believing what she had just heard.

"I said I was sorry, and I won't repeat that bloody sentence again, and especially not for you." Erik said very quickly, with a look comparable to a child forced to excuse himself for bad behavior while knowing he had done nothing wrong. But somehow, Céleste knew that he was sincere.

Well, she couldn't expect him crumbling to the ground and begging for her pardon.

Though the image of it was… interesting.

And she thanked God that Erik was unable to read in her mind.

Though she wouldn't be surprised that he had already imagined her in a similar humble situation towards him.

Simply, she smiled and asked:

"So… how are we going to get out of here? You did choose the hard way… as usual." She added, a little saucy look on her features which she simply couldn't hold back, though she was certain it was a little bit indecent.

The look that had appeared on Erik's face was… beyond description. Céleste smiled, somehow indulgently, like a mother smiling at her little boy who just got the present of his dreams for Christmas. And Erik… if he hadn't feared her reaction, he would have probably crushed her to him and kissed her until she had no breath.

_Maybe… it didn't shock her the first time… _

And so he leaned forward, surprised of his audacity and surprised of being surprised of it, and kissed her softly on the forehead. When he backed away, he saw the shadow of disappointment coming over Céleste's face, shoved away quickly… but he had seen it.

It was no use on Céleste's side.

She wanted it.

She closed her eyelids, unable to hold them from falling while Erik leaned towards her, his lips touching hers as his hands captured gently her neck, his long fingers behind her ears and the thumb tracing across her jaw. Before she had even realized it, her arms were around his neck, pulling him to her.

They both had a moment of panic, when their tongues finally met, a bit clumsily, before giving up again their insecurity. Céleste had said to herself for a moment that was most certainly a sin of lust, and her fear had comminucated to Erik… but now, she couldn't care less and just let everything go.

It was only when Erik's hands slipped from her neck to go to her shoulders, then going to move again even lower that Céleste finally regained her spirits and backed away. A little more, and that moan making her way in her throat would have gotten out… The mere thought of it made her blush. A lot. And she hated to blush.

For a moment, they starred at each other, wide-eyed, beet-red, still having trouble believing what they had just done. Erik was starting to wonder if she had backed away at first because of him, but as Céleste smiled, even laughed softly (and oh was it beautiful!) and even had the audacity of hugging him tightly, he knew it clearly wasn't the case.

Was that love?

If such was the case, then it was Heaven.

Heaven was finally given to him.

It was a lot for Erik to handle. So much, he couldn't control the sobs coming in, and he soon cried shamelessly on Céleste's shoulder while innerly scolding himself, feeling he was getting even madder with her floral fragrance.

Was he ever ashamed of himself.

He said farewell to the bit of dignity he still had.

And she simply patted his back softly, hoping that it would help him sort himself a bit (because it was vital, in their current situation!), and then, finally said, on a firm but soft tone:

"Now… we can't stay here forever, hmm?"

* * *

><p>It was like a game of cat and mouse.<p>

Erik would lead them here, and there, and back again, turn around and around in circles, come to dead ends. He was used to it. Assassins were trained to mislead their enemies.

And meanwhile, Céleste would wait in the church's tower, with the order that if he hadn't come back the next morning, she would have to make her presence known during the morning mass. He had lent her a spare hooded cloak he had brought with him in case she would have to spend the night there. They would need that later if he came back.

To sum it all up, both of them hoped Erik would just be back for half past eleven in the night.

He finally came back, at the promised hour. It had been a pleasant game, so to say – though he just hoped Soliman's bodyguards didn't track him down. Thankfully, he knew their habits and techniques, but he was aware that he could expect anything from them. Even, the small abandoned garret in which the Daroga and he had found refuge wasn't safe, in the sense they couldn't stay in there for very long. They would have to change place, even flee to another country. And with him being masked, and Nadir's apparent foreign origin, it wouldn't be easy.

He was rather content to see that her cheeks had regained their usual pink color which gave her already pale complexion some vivacity. She had thrown away her wedding veil God only knew where, and even had the audacity of unpinning her hair.

Erik couldn't hold back a smirk seeing how less tensed Céleste had became. But the lady, remembering the untidiness of her hair, couldn't hold back certain embarrassment.

"My pins hurt," she said as a poor excuse.

"I thought you ladies were told that you just had to suffer to be pretty," Erik said as a joke, though he couldn't hold back a bit of bitterness.

"Well, my governess isn't there to tell me that, so I guess it's not important, hmm?" she said, surprised of her own words and thoughts. Really, she would have never dared to even _imagine_ such a thing, months ago!

Erik shrugged, trying to have as much as possible a falsely disapproving look, while Céleste sighed with mischief. "We'll be getting out using the rooftops." He finally said. "We'll only have a little distance to cover on ground…"

The journey to the abandoned garret where Nadir and Erik had found a temporary refuge had been like in a dream. The cloak the Phantom had given Céleste was now useful to hide the too visible whiteness of her dress and to protect her from the coldness of the night. And so they got out of the tower, and thankfully, the rooftops in this place in Paris were all very close to each other. In the Emperor's frenzy of redesigning and rebuilding the city in its almost-entirety, and one of the new standards being that the houses mustn't be as close as before to avoid fires spreading too quickly, this sector had not been touched yet. Erik was thankful for it… though his inner architect had to admit that he rather appreciated some of the changes brought to Paris.

She had followed him for once obediently, holding his hand and trying not to look down. Some roofs were rather steep, and the mere idea that she could slip… No, holding Erik's hand and letting him clutch it firmly and trailing him was a very, very good idea.

Finally, they had got lower, and lower, Erik arranging so they could pass at places where she wouldn't be too uneasy for what was of her balance. As he touched the ground, without further ceremony, he picked Céleste up somehow boldly in his arms, bridal-style, while the lady couldn't hold back a little cry she thankfully was able to smother, but too late. Already, Erik's annoying-but-not-that-much-well-sort-of devilish smirk was back.

"Don't worry. I won't drop you… unless you make me."

Céleste contended herself by looking towards the stars with an exasperated look, as if she was taking Heaven as her witness. Then she smiled, amused by the image of Erik carrying her bridal style while she was wearing a wedding dress… to shove it away quickly. She felt like a giddy teenager now, and she had absolutely no reason to. She started to miss her old, sensible self.

But the reason why was simply and utterly silly.

They circulated for a while in the alleys of Paris, Erik making sure that they would always be in the shadows, so even the thieves hiding in the night wouldn't be able to see them. Finally, they arrived to the hidingplace, and it was only when Erik finally let her down that Céleste had a good glimpse of the environs, impressed by the misery surrounding them. Not a soul seemed to peek around: Erik and Nadir seemingly had chosen their hiding place well. But the surroundings were sordid, and Céleste couldn't hold back a shiver of disgust: no wonder no one wanted to stay there…

"I know it's not really relishing," Erik said, as if he was reading in her thoughts. "But we got to clean up the garret a bit within two weeks."

"At least you managed to occupy yourself while waiting for your time," Céleste remarked dourly, still not entirely fine with the fact that Erik had taken for so long…

"Let's not speak of this again, all right? And remember what I've said about it." Erik snapped, while the young lady rolled her eyes, retaining herself for giving another unfriendly comment. Finally, without another word, Erik opened the door, and they climbed the stairs until they arrived at the last floor. As they entered, Céleste was able to distinguish in the darkness an awoken Daroga, waiting for them, and who got up when seeing them. He made a small courtesy bow for Céleste.

"Not too much trouble?" Nadir enquired.

"No," Erik simply replied, before turning again to Céleste. "There's a mattress and sheets in a corner. You can sleep there… and you can change behind the screen right there. I managed to find night clothing for you."

Céleste simply nodded, too tired to thank Erik for the only mention of a bed made her feel very tired and weary of everything that had happened during the day's course. She changed, throwing away her wedding dress with glee, collapsed on the mattress, and, in a matter of minutes, fell asleep, with Erik and Nadir still remaining awake.

"So now… I suppose we'll carry out the rest of the plan?" asked the Daroga.

"Yes. Céleste will play her part well. Boys from _la haute_ have those effeminate tendencies from time to time…" Erik sighed. "Let's just hope some harlot doesn't get after her, because that might just be the end of everything… and I'll warn her of that, even if she starts hissing after me. I just hope England will be far away enough… and London is such a big city."

"Maybe America would be a better place?"

Erik frowned. "The only Americans that came to the Opera Populaire… I made them leave as quickly as he came. Those people are so… vulgar," he added, with a disdainful face.

"And after?"

Erik suddenly hesitated. Really, he had _no idea_. And, to his astonishment, the Daroga's face became suddenly very… impish.

"Are you going to ask her?"

"WHAT?" Erik yelled, before Nadir hushed him while pointing a sleeping Céleste. To be frank, well, the idea _never even crossed his mind._ It seemed almost… too much.

"Well, usually, a well-behaved lady, when she wants to enter in a more… intimate relationship with a gentleman, well, she asks for an alliance first," the Daroga continued, in the same careless tone.

"I know that, Daroga, I'm not that inexperienced it those matters," muttered Erik. "And stop talking about it. I'm not in a mood for that."

The Daroga's shadow of a smile widened. "A headache, maybe?"

Erik glared at him. "Shut up. You're the one whining about the headaches. I just… suffer in silence." While saying the last sentence, he tried his best to keep a straight face… and he succeeded. Sort of. But the Daroga wasn't blind.

The Persian sighed, suddenly becoming a lot more serious. Erik looked at him intently. When such a thing would happen, he knew that Nadir had something important to tell him.

"Well, if you do finally bring yourself to ask her, though I do have the impression she'll be the one asking you (the Daroga couldn't hold back a smile as such a thought), you will need something for that."

Erik was going to snap something about Céleste asking him instead of him asking Céleste, but, from an inner pocket of his jacket, Nadir got out a little box covered of midnight blue silk. The Phantom's eyes widened. He had recongnized it immediately.

"Nadir, no… I can't accept this. I know what it means to you."

"Yes. And I want you to have it." He bit his lips, doing his best to keep a composed face. "Reza isn't there to have them, anyway. Hmm?"

* * *

><p><strong>First of all… I had so, so, so much fun writing this chapter. You have no idea how. I want to have your impressions. Really. <strong>

**So what's awaiting our favorite couple? Don't worry: this story is far away from being done. Okay, maybe 10-12 chapters, not much more. Only… I had at first a good idea of how this was all going to continue, with Erik, Céleste and Nadir on the run and everything, but with what I had decided at first, I was wondering if it was really believable… now I have another idea, that could work better n'all, but I wouldn't be able of putting in some stuff I wanted to put in… So… review? They always help! And if you feel like talking about it more in detail, send me even a PM if you like! **

**And finally… this A/N is too long, I know, but… I'd like to point a really good phic I fell across called **_**Yellow Rose**_**, by PeekabooFang. It's Meg-centered, and it's honestly one of the best I've ever read. Even if you're not a Meg-lover, you'll like it. It has some good Raoul-moments, good Christine-moments, good Erik-moments, good Madame-moments, and Erik's backstory, Madame's backstory are explored in such a way… okay, I won't say more. Just read it. You won't regret it. It's just I'm the only one who has reviewed it until now, and I don't understand why. O_o**

**Answers to reviews: **

**PhantomFan01: **Isn't Raoul a cutie pants? ;) Céleste indeed doesn't like to display her emotions, and she is so afraid of doing so that she does take an icy cover for it. ;)

**InYuJi: **Weird, unexpected parallel. *sigh* Those guys are both sociopaths at different degrees…

**michellecarriveau: **Wait… did you say steamy? Tut tut. How inappropriate. XD Oh, new idea for torturing Soliman: forcing him to watch Erik and Céleste's sex tape. *OUTTA HERE* So you got to see the stage show during the US tour? Lucky you! I'm in Canada right now, and I'm so crossing my fingers so there could be a North American tour or a World tour and that they stop either at Ottawa, Montreal or Quebec… If so, you can be sure I'll be the first one to buy a ticket!

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Well, I'll tell you one thing: I really have trouble with the 25th anniversary mainly because of Hadley Fraser's Raoul. I mean, instead of having a show being a tribute to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Cameron Mackintosh, Hal Prince, Maria Bjᴓrnson, Gillian Lynne, Charles Hart, Andrew Bridge and all their hard work for POTO, we just had an LND-prequel. Do I buy Hadley!Raoul becoming the drunk jerk in LND? Yes, I do. And Sierra!Christine in the Final Lair… Gosh, I won't start ranting on that. I mean, seriously, this is the 25th anniversary, not some final attempt to promote a musical (almost) no one likes! Seriously, Raoul here seemed to be helping Christine by charity and didn't really seem to love her. He was way too shouty, way too arrogant… Well, Hadley did make an awesome Javert in Les Mis, but – wait, I felt like I was seeing Javert instead of Raoul. Some people may say that Hadley Fraser simply played a Raoul with a backbone, but to them, I answer: I'm sorry, but Ramin Karimloo (when playing Raoul in 2003-2004) and Simon Bailey both played Raouls with backbones, but were still very in love, kind and adorable with their Christine and had amazing chemistry with them. And I will certainly mention also Steve Barton, Oliver Eyre and Michael Shawn Lewis. So those people who say: "The 25th anniversary is the best version ever and makes the movie obsolete!" I just say: no. The singing is definitely better, but the movie sticks to ALW!POTO-canon. Not the RAH concert.

**EvaAuthor: **I must admit I kinda wonder why you would go for Soliman… but anyway. I do have Jason Momoa in my head for him, so I guess I can sort of see why… But anyway. XD

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **The point here is that Céleste knows Philippe is powerless in the situation, and she doesn't want to bring him even more worries. It's in her nature anyway to keep quiet about her feelings and impressions, anyway… And as you saw, Philippe didn't come up with anything… and I admit it, I don't really see what he can do in the situation. I think that why Céleste didn't want to add more is because she knows that Philippe doesn't want the alliance either, but he has honestly no idea how to get them out of it. She really won't help in the matter…

But about the confusions you pointed out… I'll modify that. Don't worry. (Actually, I'll admit it: at each time you drop a review while mentioning the typing mistakes and the unclear stuff and everything, I took the habit of editing each chapter as you review them, instead of having a big bunch of chapters to edit all at the same time…)

No intended Little Lotte reference here… XD

Well, I like the picture of a slightly awkward (but in an endearing way) Raoul. It tarnishes a bit the Disney-Prince-Charming image he can project, but not in a bad way at all. On many levels, while his sister is really an adult for him, well, he just feels really young around her ;) He knows that Philippe would have gone straight to the matter with Céleste, but he… feels a bit lower than Céleste here… ;)

About the Phantom's lips (serious issue, isn't it? XD)… I really have a problem with the big red lips à la Michael Crawford that you can see even with the mask on. I mean, to me, in my head-canon, the wig put aside, the mask covers EVERYTHING. You have to keep the surprise hidden. Plus, during the course of POTO, the Phantom is trying to look as attractive as possible in order to seduce Christine, so… yeah. Continuing on that line, I know I'll receive a lot of hate here, but I actually have no problem with a Phantom who's rather good-looking on one side, but the disfigurement on the other side HAS to be gross. I can understand that some people such as Leroux-purists don't like this at all, and I can understand. But then again, that's my head-canon. So there is a part here where Erik's lips are deformed… but it's all under the mask.

The hashish dependence comes from Susan Kay. Actually, the Khanum had Erik take some since this drug has an excitant sort of effect on people. Under the influence of hashish, Erik was lot more… fun. Well, fun, from the Khanum's point of view at least. In the book, the Daroga manages to make him switch from hashish to opium (which has a calming effect), but since it damages his voice, Erik laters switch to morphine, and he's still pretty much an addict when Christine comes in the story. Here, however, I didn't go into too much detail. In the time of _Let It Go_, Erik isn't addicted to a drug or anything, for the reason that Céleste wouldn't appreciate too much, she would make him want to stop, but again, you don't just heal from a drug addiction like that (I've read a couple of phanfics where Erik just has a pretty big fever when he's experiencing withdrawal sympthoms and all Christine/Meg/OC/Mary-Sue has to do is give him stew until he feels better… *sigh*). I don't know enough about the matter, and I'm not willing to do research about it because we're in the 19th century and it might just be really hard… So, it really isn't an attempt from me to mild Erik a bit…

Why did Soliman visit her in the first place? Hum… you need a picture? XD

And yes, Soliman is tired of La Parilla… just at the moment where she has ditched Herr Schmidt… XD

Well, I think "Laurent" is too much of a French name. At least the translator wanted to keep a certain authencity with the names! (He didn't do so for Mr March, however. While he's a pastor in the English version of the book, in French, he's turned into a doctor so no one in the Catholic 19th century France would be shocked ;) )

Tumblr… depends which blogger you're viewing. F. de l'Opéra, whom you named, is really reliable on Phantom stuff, and so is Operafantomet… Really, they have really good and really useful stuff, if that can be of any use to you ;) And being on Tumblr and following all those Phantom blogs, I realized something… you know, there are a lot more R/C shippers than you think… ;)

Erik knowing Gustave Daaé… Yeah, I've seen that somewhere. I already saw Phans implying that Gustave Daaé had actually asked Erik to watch over Christine after his death. Not very probable, in my humble opinion, but anyway. I've even heard about a Phantom movie (the Claude Rains 1943 one, I think) where the Phantom is actually Christine's father. Of course, he isn't romantically involved with her! Instead, you have Christine having two suitors: Raoul and a sort of evil baritone singer at the Opera. In the end, Christine chooses her career over the two of them… It's really fluffy and all nice and peachy, mainly because we were in the middle of World War II and people didn't want any angst or horror…

Talking about cat-burglars… have you seen the "Michael Shawn Lewis appreciation" video on Youtube? I posted a link on LJ going to a Tumblr post talking about him, but there is really a video with footage of him. Just… look at him when he slips under the grille during the Final Lair… No comments. I'll just let you see. (I won't put the link since Fanfiction is stupid about links… but just type "Michael Shawn Lewis appreciation" on Youtube and you'll find it)

I honestly don't see Soliman climbing up the Chagnys' house like Erik did… Erik is agile, but Soliman… in my head, he's just a bit too massive to do that without having an epic fail (which would be actually really funny, but anyway).

I believe seeing a big musical on West End or Broadway is a lot more expensive… I just cross my fingers that there will be a North American tour or a World Tour for the time I'll be in Canada (undetermined time, but still…). Going from Ottawa to New York demands a lot of organization and money indeed, and going from France to London demands even more organization and money… And anyway, if they open a Phantom show in France, I won't go and see it. The lyrics in French are just… not right. (I made the mistake of watching the 2004 movie in French once… not only did I not like the lyrics, but the French singers doing the voices of Christine and the Phantom weren't really good… worse than the so-dreaded Emmy Rossum and Gerard Butler, even!) French musicals aren't really known for their quality… _Les Misérables_ put aside XD


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

For the day, Erik had given her a dress. But she was soon advised that for the run, she would have to take the appearance and manners of a teenage boy.

With the help of the Daroga, who seemed to know quite a thing in those matters, he had made her repeat her role again and again, asking her series of never-ending questions, so she would never betray herself in any way. By the end of the morning, Céleste thought that she was so brain-washed about Simon Manin, fifteen years old, travelling to join his cousin to work and help his widowed mother, left penniless after his father's bad management and death, that she could almost forget all about Céleste de Chagny.

In the afternoon, it was a whole other game. Now, she was all clad in men's clothing, feeling incredibly awkward in trousers. Despite the latter being rather loose on her legs, she hated the fact that someone could guess their shape.

This part of her apprenticeship was rather amusing. She had to learn how to behave like a man: stop crossing her hands on her lap, avoid hand gestures as much as possible (though she told Erik rather scornfully he was sometimes rather keen on those, which earned her an eyeroll from him and a sharp order to focus on more serious matters). She also had to deepen her voice a bit. Thankfully, it had lower tones, proven well by her mezzo-soprano when she sang. Erik even stated that he wouldn't be surprised that when she would be elder, it could turn in a contralto.

"What counts the most is that you remember who you are," he finally said.

They afterwards had to prepare themselves for the journey. They were to go by train, since it would be quicker for them to arrive than to go on highways. Erik had initially planned to go to England, but he had changed his mind. The first train that would leave would be fine: all they had to do was to get out of France's borders. And, with Antoinette Giry's help, Erik had managed to get out from the bank not only the jewels he had playfully stolen during his stay in Persia, but also all his savings from the last several years of blackmailing Lefebvre, and later Firmin and André. A lot of it had gone to his clothing and other things for his lair: but a lot of the latter's elements, thankfully, were old props from long-forgotten operas that would probably never be used again. There would be more than enough for the three of them to live comfortably, especially that they would have to make themselves discreet for a while.

Erik preferred not thinking too much of their situation once they would be out of France. For sure, Céleste would ask that they would do something about it, for she would most certainly have no desire of looking like a loose woman. It was also useless to pose as brother and sister. In appearance, Erik and Céleste were like night and day, and such an excuse would fool no one. They would probably be obliged to pose as… husband and wife. And Erik simply refused to just _talk about it_ to Céleste. He would have to, eventually… but later.

He had also managed to snatch a few things from his lair. It was the only place where no one was looking for – after all, would the clever Phantom of the Opera be dumb enough to go back to his now-discovered hidingplace? Basically, he had taken what he absolutely couldn't leave behind: his music, of course. Along with two very special chests, each of them big enough to contain Nadir and himself, and that they were able to open from the inside.

That was how they expected to slip in the train, unnoticed. Céleste was to be alone in her second-class compartiment, especially at this time of year where there were very few people who travelled, now that Christmastide was over and that the season's roughness forced them to stay at home until spring and the countryside would call them again.

When Nadir and he had come back in the evening, they found Céleste, still in her boy clothes, a sheet all wraped around her as she was still uneasy about her clothing, seemingly lost in her thoughts and even rather melancholic. Erik had frowned. It wasn't like her to behave like that. She had something on her mind. And as usual, she refused to admit it.

Céleste had remarked the concern mixed with annoyance Erik had. He couldn't, of course, show real concern like Raoul would do with Christine. He wasn't quite familiar with the feeling, so to say, may it be coming from him or from other people.

She bit her lip, as she would usually do when she was getting nervous.

_I could ask… _

_No. _

_What have I to lose anyway? It's not like I should be afraid of him. _

_He has no reason to get angry. And if he does, God knows I'll put him back at his place. _

"Erik…"

He jumped when he heard his name called out. He wasn't expecting that, so to say. He was certain that Céleste was to remain silent… but obviously, this time, she had decided not to. And somehow, he felt rather pleased of it.

"Yes?" he replied, with softness in his tone that surprised not only himself, but also Céleste, who felt encouraged enough to continue.

"I want to ask you something… You can refuse, and I'll understand why. It's… oh, it's quite silly, actually," she chuckled nervously.

Erik felt awkward, not knowing exactly how to put her at ease. The best thing he found to do was to sit beside her, not too sure what to do next and probably just wait for her to continue. Ah, yes, there was one thing – he made sure not to tower her too much and to put himself at her level without giving the impression of lowering himself. It wasn't too hard: despite his almost ridiculous height, Céleste was rather tall for a woman.

She gulped, muttering against her cowardice.

"IwaswonderingifIcouldgatherafewthingsathomeand… sayg'dbyetoRoulandIstine…" she blabbered, the last part of her sentence incoherent. She blushed and scolded herself severely. She sounded like some blubbering schoolgirl.

"Pardon?" Erik asked, lifting a brow.

Céleste sighed, exasperated. "I know it's dangerous, but… I don't want to leave without my violin," she started.

"Oh," he replied, his voice flat. "Don't feel embarrassed about that. I understand you need it."

Céleste inhaled. The worst wasn't done yet.

"Do you know if Soliman is often at my home?" she continued.

"Yes, but no, he isn't. He's searching all over Paris for you with your older brother. They're even talking of searching the suburbs now, if they didn't already. So… I guess we could just get your violin quickly – and other things if you need them."

Céleste shut her eyelids. Then opened them, her icy blue gaze looking so intensly at Erik's he almost felt uneasy, much to his annoyance.

"Can I say goodbye to Raoul and Christine?"

The demand was so unexpected Erik couldn't help but jump, his eyes wide and flashing. Céleste misunderstood it as an utter refusal, and lowered her head.

"Forgive me. It was foolish of asking that."

"Look at me, Céleste."

The lady felt an electric shock cross her body. Erik's voice was gentle yet firm and determined, which was quite unexpected as she remembered his earlier reaction. But she realized that it was the first time he had actually really called her by her name. It sounded like music in his mouth, as if he did give her name a great importance. Probably a name was something sacred to him – after all, she had learned his name from the Daroga, and Christine herself wasn't even aware of it until Céleste had told her.

She laughed at her sentimentalism. And she looked at Erik with some sort of wonder.

"We're going to make things clear, all right? If you want to ask or tell me something, do it. I might just not take it well, knowing how you can be sometimes, but stop playing the good girl who opens her mouth just to say "yes" or "no" obediently, all right? I _hate it_ when you do that. It's not like you, and to me, it so glaring it's absurd."

Céleste, for a moment, starred at Erik with disbelief, wanting to gulp, but being unable of doing so. She actually didn't know how to _feel_ about this: part of her wanted to snap at Erik to mind his business and that she would just say what pleased her to say; and part of her said to herself that he was right and that she should have started doing this a long, long time ago.

The only thing she found to answer was: "Why are you asking me this? You really mind that much?"

Erik tightened his jaw. To answer such a question, raw honesty had to come in from his side as well. He glimpsed quickly towards the Daroga, who had been invisible during the whole conversation and who was seemingly all to his book. Erik, for the first time in… a very, very long time, thanked Heaven for Nadir's usual discretion and ability to forget certain things he knew it was preferable to forget about.

"Yes, I do mind," he simply said calmly, taking her hand in his. He was surprised, and silently pleased of it, as she even squeezed it.

"All right," Céleste replied, the shadow of a mischievous smile appearing on her face despite herself, looking like an insolent little boy with her cap and her hair all tucked up in it.

"Don't make me regret what I said, all right?" Erik snapped, but, thought Céleste, with not much conviction. "All I have to object here is that I'm certain your younger brother and his wife will betray you, and that all you'll have to do is to just leave them a letter," he continued, this time more confident as a way to show this was his final word. Anyway… frankly, what could he expect from Raoul and Christine?

"You may not understand this, Erik, but they won't betray me. I know they won't."

Erik turned away and took a few steps. Céleste felt a pang of guilt stabbing her, as she remembered every sort of grudge he had towards Christine and Raoul.

"Well… one of the reasons I didn't want to tell you what I wanted was because I was afraid to hurt you, you know." Céleste said softly, remembering what Erik had told her about being honest with him. Again, he turned to her, with the same childlike disbelief he would show her sometimes. "Really?" he asked a bit impulsively.

Céleste simply nodded. "I know this might just be a lost cause on insisting, Erik, but they'll let me go. I know they will."

* * *

><p>He had agreed, in the end.<p>

It was nine o'clock in the evening when they arrived in front of the Chagnys' home. In case things would get askew, Nadir had gone to the train station with the luggage they had, a top hat well placed on his head and the night's darkness permetting him to hide his Oriental features. They would have to join him right after their visit.

Erik left Céleste, who had traded much to her pleasure her boy clothes for a dress and a warm coat, in an alley, well-hidden in the shadows, while he would go and prospect the place, making sure Philippe or Soliman weren't around.

Céleste waited patiently, getting more and more nervous as she thought that, well, _she ought to tell Raoul and Christine something…_ But for now, she had absolutely no idea what, finally realizing the awkwardness of the situation in its entirety, and wondering if it wasn't better to just flee away and let things be. But another side, she asked herself if it wasn't better to reassure Raoul and Christine for now, and then later send them a letter when things would calm down…

Erik almost flew out of nowhere when he came back to her, making her jump. She saw the alarmed look on his face, which was in the situation quite unexpected. She feared for a moment someone had seen him… but despite his worry, he wasn't panicking enough for that.

"So… I guess it won't be possible, right?" she asked, with a bit of disappointment.

"No… Just, everyone is precisely saying they don't know where your older brother, the doctor or the midwife is… And your younger brother is in a room looking sick," he added with a certain delight that made Céleste's eyes roll. "Do you know what's going on? I know she's… pregnant," he added, hesitantly, as if it was hard for him to admit it. But for once, Céleste didn't mind it. On the contrary, she instead guessed what was going on, and it wasn't pretty at all.

"I'm not sure how serious this is, but apparently, the baby is coming the wrong way up."

Despite the dark, Céleste could see Erik pale, his jaw and hands tightening, like he always did when he was getting angry.

"Of course. And I bet that idiot doctor just told Christine to stay in bed? Like if that's going to help? What's next? Are they to do a cesarian? Save the baby, and not the mother, hey!?" he ranted, talking more to himself than to Céleste, whose eyes widened in shock.

"Oh please!" she snapped. "Since when do you know anything about giving birth?"

She blushed even more than she ever did in her life. Was she talking about _giving birth_ with a man? A man she had kissed too much for convenience just yesterday? Her poor mother, the late comtesse de Chagny, was probably tossing and turning in her grave, now!

"The gypsies weren't as prude as you are on those matters," Erik continued. "When such a thing happened, they would lay down the mother on her side. It always worked. At least when I was there to witness it. Byt gypsies are strong."

_And Christine isn't. _

Without further ado, he grabbed Céleste by the arm and dragged her towards the house.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

"First of all, you are going to knock at your brother's bedroom window. He'll let you in. Tell him to lock the door."

Céleste nodded, still puzzled, telling herself that she should rather tell Erik to reveal his entire plan right away. But already, they were beside the said window, and the Phantom motioned her to knock.

Raoul lifted up his head, and his eyes widened in astonishement when he saw her. Swiftly, Céleste pointed to the door. The vicomte nodded in understanding, and locked the door before opening the window.

"Where is he?" was the first question which crossed his lips.

"With me," Céleste pointed with her chin as Erik entered himself. The latter made an effort not to look too much at his former rival, but the young lady could feel that the atmosphere was even tenser than before. Raoul would glance quickly at the Phantom, unsure of how to react, before deciding that the wisest thing to do was to ignore him and focus on his sister.

"So… why did you come back?" he asked first.

"I just wanted to pick up a few things," shrugged Céleste. "And… I wanted to say goodbye to you and Christine… But it just seems like I arrived at the wrong moment."

Raoul ruffled his already very messy hair nervously, which gave him a very boyish look. "The baby is coming sooner than expected. It seems like every doctor and every midwife is busy tonight. Philippe is away also because of your flight, and…. must it really be tonight?" he whined in despair. "And… all I know is that things are not going well. Éloïse told me to get out; she said I wouldn't be useful…"

A cry of pain came from a room not too far away. It was easy for Erik, Céleste and Raoul to recongnize Christine. Erik had become quite pale, while Raoul, in a childish reflex, had brought his hands to his ears and even jumped to his feet, ready to run in his wife's room, while Céleste, despite her trembling, would motion her brother to sit down. Raoul was about to protest, but Erik suddenly snapped:

"You'll just make matters worse. Exciting her like you would do won't help."

"What do you know about that?" Raoul snarked back.

"Anyway, it's all your fault if this happened, vicomte," the Phantom growled.

"Enough," Céleste interrupted them sternly before Raoul could reply. "I will not give to either of you the satisfaction of me scolding one of you when you speak so… grossly of all this. Understood?"

Erik gave Céleste a dirty look, while Raoul, thanks to all the respect he had for his elder sister, was able to retain himself from doing so. But already, the Phantom stroke back.

"At least it brought you a bit more of a natural color, vicomte. You were positively green a few minutes ago."

"Erik!"

"I – " Once again, a cry coming from Christine interrupted them. Erik clenchted his fists, wishing he could slam the door open, go to where she was and do the best he could to save her. He lifted up his head, meeting Céleste's eyes, studying his every move and expression with attention, her eyes questioning, almost ready to look disappointed or even jealous. He chuckled softly at himself, the shadow of a smirk appearing on his lips which was for Céleste, and only for Céleste. Raoul, on the other side, had lost nothing of their silent interaction, as he was observing it with disbelief, shock, and so many other contradicting feelings he could not describe.

"When did it start?" Erik finally asked.

"It started this afternoon, around two o'clock," Raoul answered, without looking at the Phantom too much. "I come to wonder if it will ever end…" Morbid thoughts invaded the young vicomte's mind, as he buried his face in his hands in a useless attempt to shove them away. Erik felt like yelling. Some births could take an entire day. And in Christine's current state…

They stayed for about fifteen minutes there, not saying a word, with Raoul sitting on the divan, his face still burried in his hands, with Céleste patting his back gently and absent-mindedly, while Erik stood near the window, his face dark and unreadable.

Finally, a cry, piercing through the night, that made them all put their hands over their ears in pain, interrupted brutally their heavy silence… And finally, as it finally ended, they all looked at each other in disbelief, their lower lip trembling, looking like confused children, not knowing if they should remain calm at any price or start crying in a way of draining away the overdose of emotion.

The sound of feet pacing quickly towards the room where they were standing made itself heard. As quick as lightning, Raoul pointed a wardrobe in a corner of the room, motioning Erik and Céleste to hide in it. They did so, and closed the door just in time as a servant knocked on the door and Raoul made her enter the room.

"Monsieur le vicomte! Madame… she gave you a little girl!"

Céleste, despite the darkness where she was plunged, could feel Raoul's wide smile, then it fading a bit with worry.

"And… Christine?"

"Ah, I can't believe she's actually fine! Exhausted, yes, but fine! She doesn't have milk, the poor thing. I'm not surprised of it! Oh, pardon me, monsieur; I forgot to who and of whom I was speaking!"

"It all right, Éloïse. I'll be there in a minute… just, give me time to wash my face a bit and make myself presentable."

Éloïse bowed, and quickly got out. Raoul immediately headed to the wardrobe where Erik and Céleste were hiding.

"Céleste… I'll tell everyone to let Christine and me alone. If you want to come and see the baby, Christine is the window just beside this room. Wait two minutes, all right?"

Raoul quickly made his way out of his room, so quickly his mother would have probably scolded him for his ungentlemanly demeanor. A little while after, Céleste finally dared to open the wardrobe's door, and headed towards the window, looking hesitantly around and making sure no one could see her. Erik soon came just beside, whispering to her: "You can go. There's no one."

Raoul was there, waiting for her, as he opened the window and motioned her inside, leaving it open so a bit a fresh air could enter. Christine was in her bed, a little white bundle pressed against her chest. She looked worn-out indeed, her cheeks were still red, and her forehead was damp: but she was positively radiant despite all the tremendous efforts she had given.

With a soft smile, Céleste headed slowly towards the bed and kneeled beside it. She smiled, when she finally discovered the new-born's crumpled little face, on which she could already distinguish traits from her parents.

"What's her name?" she asked softly.

"Marie Blanche Anne Céleste," replied Raoul. "Or Blanche just for short."

Céleste's eyes widened. "Wait, if one of her Christian names is mine, it's because…"

"You're her godmother, Céleste," Raoul said softly.

"But… but Raoul, I won't even be able to attend her baptism and…"

"It doesn't matter. Christine and I want _you_ to be the godmother. Someone will replace you at the baptism, but in the certificate, it's your name that will appear."

Mlle de Chagny's eyes moistened, as she squeezed Raoul's hand. He simply smiled, and asked: "Do you want to hold her a minute?"

Céleste nodded, and slowly, like if she was bearing a treasure, Christine headed Blanche to Raoul, who handed her to Céleste. Her face became radiant, as she felt the warmness of the little being against her chest, as she was sleeping peacefully in her arms.

A few minutes later, which passed too quickly, Christine's voice interrupted the peaceful silence. "Would you like to hold her a minute?"

Raoul and Céleste both turned quizzically to Christine, before looking in the direction the vicomtesse was gazing at. They turned to see Erik, who had silently entered the room while no one was glancing, too occupied by little Blanche.

Erik shook his head. "No," he simply replied, looking uneasy.

Christine bit her lip, looking down, while Raoul did his best not to stare at her in disbelief. Erik cleared his throat.

"Can I just… look at her?"

"Of course!" Céleste replied impulsively, before Raoul or Christine could answer. She suddenly felt very awkward, wondering why she had answered to Erik's request. Without further ado, she advanced towards him, revealing little Blanche's face.

Erik studied his face intently, trying to find traits coming from Christine. Blanche already had a lot of hair for a baby, and it was obvious that one day, it would grow in gorgeous, thick curls like her mother's. He also recognized Christine's doll-like, pouty lips, and the wide, fawn-like shape of her eyes. But the resemblance stopped there. Her dirty blonde hair, her blue eyes and the shape of her nose proved that she was indeed a Chagny, and her father's daughter.

It was silly. Erik had hoped for the fraction of a second that the child _could have been his._ He almost expected to be massively disappointed to see that it obviously wasn't the case, but somehow, he felt _free_. More free than he had ever felt since…

Since forever, actually.

He met Céleste's eyes, and remarked she was glancing worriedly at him, though she showed a brave smile, which he returned. And it was wide, and genuine.

Somehow, he felt like he was born at the same time Blanche de Chagny had come on Earth.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The trick used by gypsies for birth is real. Actually, it was the Native Americans who used it. **

**And the Who reference from the last chapter… it's from Classic Who, and you really have to be a bit of an expert in the matter to find it… I know, I'm a horrible person. Well, I talk about it in the answer below to PhantomFan01, so you can just have a look at it because I don't want to repeat myself again… (Lazy me. *shoots herself*) But later, I was re-reading this and I said to myself: "My God, this is so much like **_**The Runaway Bride**_** you could replace Céleste with Donna and Erik with Ten!" Now I have this disturbing picture of Céleste monkeying to Erik: "You. Are. Bonkers!" **

**Answers to reviews: **

**michellecarriveau: **You really have no idea what's in Nadir's box? Mmm, I thought it was pretty obvious… but hey, I guess it's because I'm the author XD But yeah, you're right… I guess I should have developed Soliman a bit here… *sigh*

**PhantomFan01: **Well, it's not that obvious, I'll tell you. It is from Classic Who, or if you prefer, the _Doctor Who_ series that aired from 1963 to 1989. Actually, a lot of inspiration for Céleste comes from Romana, who was the Doctor's companion from 1978 to 1981. She was a Time Lord (well, in the case, Time Lady) like the Doctor, and her first incarnation was a bit of the epitome of the Defrosting Ice Queen. She had been chosen by the Time Lords (well, the White Guardian, to be more precise) to help the Doctor in his quest to find the Key to Time, and basically, Romana's first incarnation and the Doctor argued ALL. THE TIME. So there's that part where, if I recall well, they're pretty much lost and Romana asks the Doctor what they're going to do. Since the latter actually has no idea, she just gets mad at him and basically tells him what Céleste has told Erik earlier: "You have absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever! You are arrogant, self-opinionated, etc." Well, I often say that Erik and Céleste are like Romana I and the Sixth Doctor caught together… XD

**EvaAuthor: **Okay, so you like Soliman because it's Jason Momoa. Hmm. That seems fair to me. Like I can't bring myself to totally hate Tywin Lannister because it's Charles Dance XD Well, it's true Erik is sorta… sexy when it comes to possessiveness (no, stop thinking perv, Wild Concerto). But Céleste's advantage is that she doesn't really take it, which is good. XD

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Yes, literally. We're talking of Michael Ball, here. XD

You know, talking about the picture you had of Céleste in a modern-day wedding dress… you have no idea of all the AUs I created for this story… The best it got is that I enrolled some of the characters in this story in Hogwarts XD I'm still not sure in which house Raoul, Meg and Céleste should be, though…

About Christine's prayers to her father… Maybe I should develop a bit on that. But in my headcanon, Christine believes that her father first sent her Erik to teach her how to sing, and just at the moment where things could go cabloowy, he sent her Raoul as well… But yeah, she could have prayed St Agnes as well… Gosh, she's on my Awesome Saints list. I mean, forced by the guy who wanted to marry you to go in the arena naked and then having her hair grow and covering her all up… Awesome. XD

The analogy was voluntary here: Philippe may be near her, but he's a ghost more than anything in the situation…

Also, whatever you tell me, DON'T EVER COMPARE ERIK TO ZORRO AGAIN. I HAVE A DISTURBING PICTURE WHOSE ORIGIN COMES FROM PONR IN THE MOVIE NOW STUCK IN MY MIND. (Well, Antonio Banderas has been considered to play the Phantom in a movie adaptation in the 1990's along with Kate Winslet…) Plus, just imagine Leroux!Erik doing the nose speech. Or teaching Raoul how to speak properly like a lover would do to Christine. Oh dear.

Don't complain about the gun. The bells… yeah, I might work on that again, but I'm just so tired and lazy and living on caffeine. Just let me go to sleep. Please. (But you know I just had an idea for a crack-fic involving Erik and Ace McShane? I mean, seriously. Just think of it.)

Oh dear… Erik and Céleste *do* act like little children when they argue… which spices their relationship. And I MUST stop reading Éponine/Enjolras fanfics. It doesn't help me at all. XD Anyway, if I was at Céleste's place, I'd be pretty mad that Erik waited two weeks for the rescue just for the pleasure of a bit of drama… I mean, he kinda deserves all the epithets she throws at him XD (Céleste knows Erik has escaped thanks to Soliman… he told her at the same time he brought the mutilated harlot. ;) ) Man, you liked the kissing scene? You have no idea how happy I am! I mean, you can't expect Erik to kiss you all peachily and perfectly. Not like he's experienced or anything… And I LOVE the picture of the fearsome Phantom of the Opera and Céleste de Chagny kissing then all beat-red and caught in a child-like awkwardness…

I assume Erik find a little hiding place in the tower… I wouldn't be surprised that there would be something in the carving that could make a nice little corner. Plus, I assume Erik just had something white with him to give the illusion that Céleste is with him. I wouldn't be surprise of it… Maybe I should go back and give more details. I wasn't really precise on it, unfortunately, and I have to admit it was voluntarily. And Erik and Céleste escaped using the nearby roofs. I think I explained that they were near… ;) Plus, Erik always has a bit of rope near… hmm? ;)

Pff, Erik is so convinced of his own genius in architecture I'm sure he thinks not only he would have been better than Haussmann, but that he could also create the eighth world wonder or something… XD

Oh snap – I think the reason why the Tumblr link doesn't work is because I changed my username – I swapped from bohemian-rhapsody to wildconcertoworld to be more recongnizable… I just forgot to change the link… *sigh*

Yes, the author of _Yellow Rose_ is the same who wrote _Jeeves and the Opera Ghost_! I'm actually reading it right now. ;) But seriously, so far, I really recommend _Yellow Rose_. It's a retelling of POTO, but believe it or not, it's really original.

**Aria of Life: **Yay, review! XD But… what did you think the DW reference was? ;)

Yeah, _Yellow Rose_ is honestly one of the best phanfics I've ever read… oh gosh. And it's getting really high on my Meg-phics list.

But man, if I was at Céleste's place, I'd be pretty mad that Erik waited two weeks for the rescue just for the pleasure of a bit of drama… I mean, he kinda deserves all the epithets she throws at him XD Honestly, I think that if she just swooned in his arms, it would just make no sense…

And gosh, I just love writing Erik/Nadir bromance. I fell in love with that bro!ship since I've read Susan Kay. It's was really one of the highlights of the book, not to say the biggest.


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

No one came to bother them. The clock rang half past ten somewhere in the house. Christine was fighting against sleepiness, but as she cleared her throat and that Raoul turned to her, she made sign for him to come closer to her. She whispered something in his ear, making Raoul jump and stare at her in disbelief. Christine smiled softly, before whispering something else. The vicomte finally grinned kindly at her, before turning towards Céleste, who had sat down in a chair, Blanche still in her arms, while Erik sat on the floor, near the window, lost in his thoughts.

"So… did you have any plans for your escape?" Raoul asked gently. "Well…" he continued, feeling awkward, as it sounded like he approved that his sister would run away with no other than the Phantom of the Opera in person, "at least you'll get away from Soliman."

"I hope so," Céleste whispered. She turned to Erik, waiting for some reaction coming from him. Without lifting his head, the latter asked:

"Why do you want to know that? How do I know you will not betray us?"

"Well, frankly, sir, I think I actually prefer having my sister with you than with Soliman," Raoul replied reluctantly. "Actually…" he sighed before continuing. "Long story short, Christine and I had planned leaving Paris after the birth of our child."

"What? You never mentioned…" Céleste blurted.

"We wanted it to make it as discreet as possible. Christine… I managed to get her as a new lead soprano in an opera in Venice."

Erik and Céleste both stared at Raoul with incredulity.

"But that's wonderful!" Céleste finally managed to say, as cheerily as she could. Erik was still lost in his thoughts. Venice, the city of bridges, canals, gondolas and masks. The city some called one of the most beautiful in the world. In all his travelling, he had never got the opportunity of visiting it… And now, he felt a sudden urge of doing so.

"We wanted to wait for Blanche to be born, before doing so. And now… we expected leaving in about three weeks or a month. Just in time for the Venice carnival, actually. They say it's absolutely beautiful," Raoul chattered.

Actually, he would never tell anyone the real reason for why they had waited for so long. No one would ever know about the nightmares they would do at night, weeks after the _Don Juan Triumphant_ night, where they would wake up and comfort each other mutually, the two of them even crying shamelessly, sometimes.

The road had been even rockier for Christine. It had taken a while before she was able to separate the man who had been her Angel of Music and music itself in two separate entities. Raoul knew it was better to wait, and to forbid as much as possible any sort of connection with music and opera. Not that he wanted to rip away Christine from one of greatest passions – Raoul didn't really possess any sort of notable musical talent, despite that his voice was rather agreeable according to the Jesuit in charge of the choir when he was at the Vaugirard college. He had the soul of a poet, and loved music from the deepness of its core to its ethereal wings. But still aware of reality, he knew Christine needed some time, to put her past away and come back to stability. And now, with the birth of Blanche, it had finally come.

"We even bought a house for all of us, and the staff is already all there and waiting for us to arrive. Just a cook, a maidservant and a valet… Actually, we were wondering… I could write a letter to the servants, and you could go there, at least for a while, until you find a way…"

Céleste looked at Raoul in shock. She was about to mutter something, gratitude wanting to spill out of her eyes by her tears, before Erik snapped:

"No way."

"And what did you expect to do, Erik?" Céleste demanded coldly. "Jumping on the first train we'll get isn't a good option to me anymore. At least we'll know where we're going, and I know I will have a roof over my head. Anyway, I made my decision. I'm going there with or without you."

Erik's jaw tightened, as his gaze wandered somewhere else, refusing to show that he accepted, and especially not in front of Raoul. He got up quickly.

"We came here to gather a few things, anyway. Can we just go and get them now?" he asked.

"Céleste's room is at the second floor," said Raoul. "I think it will be a little difficult to go and get them…"

"We'll manage," Erik said with a smirk. "Don't worry."

"But what will you tell the staff about Erik?" Céleste asked. "I mean…" Céleste bit her lip, embarrassed at the idea of talking of what seemed so delicate of a subject to Raoul. "About his status… towards me."

Raoul blushed. "Well… you could pass as husband and wife. But…" he continued, looking at Erik. "You could certainly find some sort of establishment somewhere."

"And who will protect Céleste, if Soliman does catch up with her?" Erik asked coldly, not too pleased to see everything seemed to rely on the vicomte.

"Fine, stay with her," Raoul answered, annoyed and not in a mood to start arguing. "Find wedding rings to make it all more plausible. I just hope…" he stopped.

"I just hope it remains temporary," Erik continued, imitating Raoul's voice so well and yet in some sort of caricatured manner Céleste, Christine and Raoul starred at him, uncomfortable. In the end, the vicomte rolled his eyes.

"And this?" continued Erik, pointing his mask.

"You could say it's just to hide a war injury or something," Céleste shrugged. "I never quite understood why you never did."

Erik gave her a deadly glare, before suddenly fidgeting and his mouth opening slightly. "I… I never thought of that," he muttered, absent-mindedly. "But what if people asked me to take it off? Even… in Persia, they forced me to take it off."

"We're in Europe, Erik, among civilized people," grumbled Céleste.

"We're in Europe, yes, where you have freak-shows travelling here and there," Erik growled back.

"Do you seriously think I'll let that happen?" Céleste replied, staring intently in Erik's eyes.

"Like if –"

"They'll have to get over my dead body first, Erik. It's not like I'll always be the damsel in distress," she added, unable to retain a malicious glimmer in her eyes.

A few minutes later, the Phantom, who had got outside, had all arranged his lasso as a climbing rope. Céleste was just beside him, really to follow him to the station when it would all be ready. Raoul was observing it all from the window of his room, and his mouth opened when he saw what was going to happen.

"Honestly… you don't expect her to just _climb_ like that?"

"Why not?" Erik shrugged. "Anyway, it's not like you could do it."

"Well, when I was in the Navy…"

"Stop it, all right?" Céleste snapped, exasperated.

"Actually, I would like it very much if this brave young sailor would show how gifted he is," Erik alleged sarcastically.

Before Céleste or Christine could say anything, Raoul had stepped out, starring boldly at the Phantom, and seized the rope from his hands, while Erik's smirk became definitely feral.

"Raoul?" Christine's sweet voice called out, incredulously.

"Don't worry, Lotte," Raoul started jokingly. "I'll do my best not to break my neck while saving my honor."

Céleste, however, wasn't reassured at all.

"I warn you," she muttered to Erik, "if something happens…"

"… I'll buy a big bouquet for his funeral, don't worry," Erik continued her sentence. Céleste gave him a deadly glare, but already, Raoul was bravely attempting to climb up. Céleste's hands clapped together, twisting in worry, while Erik was casually crossing his arms, observing with a smirk Raoul's ascension. The vicomte arrived uneasily but surely to the level of Céleste's bedroom window, before slipping down with more ease, in the same way an alpinist would come down a cliff.

Finally, when he touched the ground, like a prancing stallion, he handed back the rope to Erik, doing his best not to smile triumphantly. His eyes, already very expressive and which he never managed to learn how to control unlike every proper gentleman, showed however his victory, and the Phantom had to fight very hard not to slap the impertinent vicomte so it would all disappear.

"All right, all right, it's done, now get back in before you catch a cold," snapped Céleste. Erik was thankful for her intervention… though he couldn't help but smile while seeing her bossing Chagny around. Raoul, on the other hand, was used of experiencing such an attitude from Céleste. But this time, the unmistakable expression on the Phantom's face embarrassed him more than anything else, and he had to do his best not to give the impression that he minded – after all, it would mean victory on O.G.'s side…

* * *

><p>Céleste opened her eyes as the daylight made its way through the half-closed curtains of her room. The sun was warm, despite the winter season, and she smiled and closed her eyes again as she felt the rays dancing a bit on her face.<p>

Thankfully enough, the travelling had gone along without trouble of any kind: Nadir, by a happy coincidence, had got a ticket for the Venice-Simplon Orient Express. Céleste, all clad in boy's clothes and Simon Manin's persona, lowered her head and muttered something incomprehensible whenever she/he was asked something, and even when her/his papers were inspected by the authorities when the train came to cross borders (this going around the lines of "_Ouais_", the French for "Yeah"), even wiping her mouth with her hand (following Erik's recommendation, to feel genuinely disgusted of herself after and to give her the resolution of giving Erik a snide comment about it). She remained in her second-class compartment all along, with her two companions hidden in the trunks Erik had brought.

They were very special indeed: it was in those trunks that they had both escaped from Persia, many years ago. Special, for they were able to open them from the inside.

They would get out, from time to time, stretching their legs and also getting something to eat. Erik would also manage at night to go and check on Céleste. They had, in the end, determined certain hours for such an inspection: Erik would come in the first times quite unexpectedly, and had even once come in while she was asleep. She had woke up a few hours later, to see him casually lying down on a few cushions he had placed on the floor, reading a book he had procured himself only God knew where. Needless to say she wasn't too pleased of seeing him there, in so small of a place, for so long of a time (even if Erik had grumpily said that it wasn't the first time they were in a room alone together), and that she had insisted on agreeing on certain hours.

They had finally arrived at the Santa Maria station, Céleste still in her boy clothes, getting her trunks unpacked, receiving complain about heavy they were: "_Dame_!" She/He would answer. "There's all my poor mother's pans and linen in there. Couldn't leave that behind. She'd toss and turn in her grave if I did."

Céleste/Simon then headed to fetch a cab, telling the driver that he/she was sent by a certain Mlle de Chagny to get the trunks all loaded when she would arrive; and it was only then that Simon Manin, clutching his bag on his chest, would run to the closest toilet, locking the door and double-checking it, taking off those so-dreaded pants, the cap which hid her hair, and unbinding her thankfully not-too prominent bust, to finally enjoy the feeling of _wearing a dress again_.

She opened the little box covered in midnight blue silk Erik had given her just before leaving. It contained a ring. A wedding ring, to be more precise, with a blue sapphire crowning it, but a shade of blue so dark it seemed almost black.

Céleste knew all this was just a masquerade. And she had never been much of a sentimental girl, so to say. But she did dream, from time to time, when she was still a teenager and her view on the world changing and not being that innocent anymore. A ring had significance for her. An important one.

And for a moment, she wished she wasn't alone to put it on, before once again shoveling away her daydream.

She arranged her hair in a quick bun, being used from her time at the convent of dressing it without needing a mirror, and, finally ready, she headed towards the cab waiting for her, to lead her to the docks that would get her on a small boat and lead her straight to her future home. Finally, she sank down in her seat, relieved that the hardest part of her journey was over.

She arrived at the house with the servants all ready to greet her, asking her when "Monsieur" would arrive. To such an appellation, Céleste had to struggle to keep a straight face. She did however managed to answer that "Monsieur" was to arrive tomorrow; that Basile just had to bring the trunks in her room, and that she would manage for the rest with "Monsieur" when he would arrive, since they both preferred taking care of unpacking their possessions on their own.

"Please," she also added. "Monsieur le vicomte probably warned you all of this, but my husband still experiences trauma from his war experience back in 1870. I ask you please to leave him to himself as much as possible."

It was an agreement Erik had made with Raoul. He was terrified at the mere idea of living with anyone else than Céleste – though, of course, he affirmed it with much mild terms in front of the vicomte. Strangely enough, he hadn't minded that much when he was in the convent. Probably the nuns' dark, discreet silhouettes seemed unreal and even more spectral than he had ever been. But Céleste didn't know how to take care of a house on her own, not having learnt the slightest thing about cooking or keeping a home clean, and therefore, a handful of servants was necessary. But with the assurance that he would barely see them, Erik had accepted the compromise, though not whole-heartedly.

After carefully closing her room's door, she knocked softly on the trunks where Erik and Nadir were still hiding, so they could finally get out and stretch themselves after all the stiffness the never-ending stillness, later additional to the shaking of the moving cab had given them.

They waited in her room until nighttime came, to quietly get out of the house while the servants were asleep. Meanwhile, Céleste pretended to be resting in her room, and remained there until morning, affirming that the trip had tired her and that she wished to rest, refusing to be disturbed.

Getting out of her recalling of the previous events, Céleste finally got up and put a dressing gown on her nightdress. She headed towards the first floor, where she knew her breakfast was waiting for her, not ashamed of her rather neglected appearance, since she wasn't expecting Erik for probably two hours or so, giving her time…

She cursed herself for being surprised of seeing when she entered in the living-room Erik casually seated on a chair near the table, his cloak and jacket neglectfully thrown on a divan, his legs crossed, reading the newspaper and biting absent-mindedly in a pastry, as if he was the master of the house or something. Céleste rolled her eyes, angry that she wasn't dressed (though it wasn't the first time Erik saw her in her nightwear… but she didn't want to remember that), coughed in a way of signifying her presence, making Erik lift his eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Did the servants see you?" she simply replied.

"No," was his answer, as he plunged back into his newspaper, but with a devilish smirk twisting his mouth.

"What if they did?" Céleste replied.

"You know, _chérie_, you really ought to try the pastries. Especially the chocolate ones. I usually keep them for myself, but I'm in a good mood today, you know."

Erik gently pushed the pastry plate towards Céleste, his smirk becoming wider as he saw her nasty look he had deserved after the "_chérie_" appellation.

"Don't. You ever call me _chérie_. Again."

"Oh," he said, disappointed. But the smirk came back quickly, even more feral than ever. "I guess I'll have to call you divine goddess then. It's a shame. I wanted to keep that one for Sundays. But eat up a bit. You've always told me a full stomach helps a lot when you have a cranky mood."

Céleste, exasperated, wiped her face with her hand, but felt at the same time the cold bite of the ring she was wearing on her finger. She glanced at it for a moment, before remembering Erik was right there in front of her, following her every move.

She had quite childishly refused to take it off to go asleep. She didn't want to. She had no idea why, and she preferred not to toss and turn the question too much.

"How is Nadir doing?" she asked in a low voice, eager to find a more decent conversation.

"He found a room in a hotel as we planned," Erik shrugged. He was going to make a reflection about how quickly she had changed subject, but the maid suddenly entered, and gasped, surprised of seeing Erik.

"Oh dear," she simply said. "I'm so sorry Monsieur – if I only knew that Monsieur was to arrive so early…"

"It's fine, Fabiana," Céleste said calmly, happy of the maid's diversion. "You can leave us alone, now."

The maid curtsied and quickly got out of the living-room, but not before asking:

"Forgive me for bothering you any longer, Madame, but I recall that Monsieur will have a separate room from yours? Unless you wish to be in the same…"

"Separate will be fine, Fabiana," Céleste quickly answered.

Céleste was thankful that it hadn't become too common again for a husband and a wife to sleep in the same room. Raoul and Christine did, though, but Céleste suspected that part of the reason was because Christine felt a lot more secure with her husband near her. It still wasn't quite proper, and such an establishment was made with the utmost discretion – but her dear brother and sister-in-law probably didn't care less. And seeing how proprieties were evolving, that habit of sleeping in separate rooms might just fade away with many other habits.

Where was the world heading to?

Céleste glanced quickly at Erik, knowing that he would probably take advantage of the occasion to infuriate her even more. But she quickly saw that his attention was concentrating on something a lot more important.

He had of course caught the curious glances Fabiana was giving to his mask. Of course, all the servants were aware that it was to hide a "war injury", as Raoul and they had agreed to present it. But still…

Erik didn't appreciate it at all.

He however contended himself by tightening his jaw, as he usually did when he was annoyed, to retain himself from doing something a little bit more demonstrative, while Fabiana, unaware of the inner stir she had provoked, got out of the room without further ado.

Céleste, of course, hadn't missed a thing.

"Erik…" she started soothingly.

"What?" he snapped.

"Erik, you have to expect people glancing at it a bit. They won't try to rip it off either. If you're afraid for the servants, I'm telling you: if they value their job, they'll leave you alone."

He snorted. Céleste rolled her eyes. She had never been very good at reassuring, so to say… except maybe those times where Raoul was a lot younger and that he was afraid of some storm (though he would never admit it out loud, the boy) and that he would come and cuddle up in her bed. Erik was an entirely different manner though. He was standoffish, and stubborn, and volatile, and grumpy at times, and he had that wicked sense of humor… Yet God had put him on her path. She still wondered what she had done wrong. This last thought pulled out a smile of her.

"What's so funny?" Erik asked crossly.

"I was simply telling myself that you really need a vacation, Erik," Céleste finally said.

"I never took a vacation," he snorted. "I don't need one."

"That explains a lot," she whispered mischievously.

"And that is?"

"Tired people get even more cranky than usual, especially geniuses. They have to work twice as hard, you see," she continued, doing her best to keep a straight face.

"Oh, so you finally admit openly my genius? I am honored of being considered so highly by you. I'll remember you said this of me quite fondly, _chérie_."

The twisted smirk was back. But for once, Céleste felt relieved when seeing it… until the "_chérie_" came back.

"What did I say about that?"

"Well, if I'm not your husband, even in pretend, who am I?"

Erik had asked the question so seriously Céleste was completely taken aback. To be frank, she had no idea what to answer.

What were they, to this point?

Certainly nothing she could compare to the normal establishments she encountered in society and more especially in her class.

They weren't engaged, despite the ring he had given her and that was nothing more than a façade. She wasn't even sure the idea of asking her had crossed Erik's mind, as unorthodox as he was. Friends? No. Much more than that. Just that kiss in the church tower… She remembered it with unease, it becoming even more intense as she realized that she actually longed for more. She had had a lot of time to daydream about it during the trip from Paris to Venice, often without even realizing it.

Was the term of lovers the more appropriate way of phrasing it? Probably. Though the term lover always had some sort of forbidden, sinful sense to Céleste. And to realize that she was sort of Erik's lover and he her lover made her perturbed.

Though, to be honest, they hadn't really sinned.

Unless those daydreams about him were sins of thought by lust.

And on Erik's side, she preferred not imagining the way he would consider her at times, for his morals were quite different of hers, so to say, and she could barely, in all her rather puritanical upbringing, really consider them as morals in the right sense of the word.

"I don't know," she finally answered, refusing to remain silent any longer.

She closed her eyes, lowering her head, trying to escape complicated reality as much as she could… until she felt Erik's long, bony fingers hand hers, bringing it to his lips, and kissing each finger tenderly.

It had come naturally for Erik. He felt awkward himself while seeing Céleste's inner distress.

And before she knew it, as naturally as it was for him, she slowly leaned her head on his shoulder.

They remained in the same position for long minutes.

For Céleste, it was enough for now.

Even for Erik, it was enough for now.

He admitted now. In his mind, he lusted a lot about her. Not that he actually minded much by some sort of scruple. He found himself at times trying to imagine some of her curves, how soft her skin was at other places than her lips or her neck… The only thing that would make him want to think of something else was when he came to the realization that he had never lusted after Christine in that way. He used to, of course: but it was all in some sort of crazy fantasy where the only planning he had in mind was pretty much playing music in the dark, with candlelight as only lighting.

He was now willing to get over Christine, of course. He had even come to the realization that it had been a while since he was.

The hardest part of it was probably to admit his wrongs.

With such a feeling, Erik wasn't quite familiar, so to say.

So he just went back to his good old habit, always effective, of forgetting the painful memories and concentrating on the present and the future.

The future was still uncertain: but the present, somehow, was Céleste.

And in their soft embrace, despite all the desire starting to manifest itself and rather natural for a twenty-four-year-old maiden and a thirty-five-year-old man, somehow, it was enough. For now.

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><p><strong>AN: Aaaaand **_**Little House on the Prairie**_**! **

**Uh no. Not yet. *smiles evilly à la Steven Moffat***

**You know, I just discovered something amazing. Well, something amazing for R/C shippers. You know, I read somewhere on the Internet that in the movie, Christine ACTUALLY mouthed "I love you" to Raoul just before starting to sing "Pitiful creature of darkness…" and everything. I went back to see the movie. And she really does. It's not too obvious though. Just to give you a clue to find it easily, you have a shot of her, then you have a shot of Raoul glaring desperaringly at her, then you see Erik, and then, you see her again and she starts singing… So guys, those of you who say that in the movie, Christine does not love Raoul and actually loves Erik, I'm sorry, but NO. R/C is canon even in the movie. So the 25****th**** anniversary DOES NOT make the 2004 movie obsolete. At least for me. Tee-hee. **

**To sum it all up, you have no idea of the epic happy break-dance I did when I saw that. **

**Answers to reviews: **

**michellecarriveau: **Well, I'll tell you one thing: if you want to read Kay, read the Leroux novel first. If you don't, your vision of POTO might just become friggin messed up. Just, the part before Christine comes in is great, and I don't think you can tell Erik's backstory any better. Only… it was meant to be a Leroux fanfiction, but the thing is, Christine's portrayal… mah, I won't say more. Just read it. When you're a phan, it's a must. (You get the e-book at Barnes & Noble for around nine bucks… or is it three? Then again, that's the price for it in Canada…)

But I'm glad you liked this chapter! I was worried about it. And wait… did you say that Erik has to realize that Céleste was baby ready? I'm trying not to read between the lines… XD And yeah, Blanche is mini-Christine with blonde hair… **

**PhantomFan01: **Not a lot of people know about the Classic Who series, unfortunately… If ever you're interested, you can find the episodes on Dailymotion. I'm telling you, it's worth it. You see more of the great Sarah Jane Smith, for example ;) Well, I have to say Erik and Céleste weren't exactly "calm", so to say… But do you know about the significance of the name "Blanche"? ;)

**EvaAuthor: **So everyone is happy Raoul is the dad… Mmm, did you hear that, Andrew? XD And gosh, did you really think I was going to kill Christine? You kidding me? I'm not that sadistic. Not that much. Tee-hee. And for the rest… hehe. Hehehe.

**InYuJi: **Well, if you say Erik is being a dick here, well, I guess you're also saying that it's a jolly good thing Céleste yelled at him. I mean, I would have yelled at him as well, O.G. or not. Yup, Céleste is going to be a total pretty boy. Let's just hope there won't be an angst-filled teenage girl dressed-up in a longcoat and an ugly hat who'll start following her everywhere XD

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **I honestly don't see Céleste being perfectly at ease in trousers. I mean, she spent her entire life in a dress, and women who wear trousers are loose women such as George Sand (aka Aurore Dupin), a French author in the 19th century who wore pants, smoked a pipe and had _quite_ a reputation… Don't forget ALW!Christine played Serafino in _Il Muto_, which is a trouser role… ;) But we're talking of Céleste de Chagny, here, and of course, she's no vulgar opera performer! XD

It does happen that some mezzo-sopranos, when they're around the age of forty or more commonly around fifty, turn into contraltos… I don't know, I see an older Céleste with a contralto… XD

Well, Erik prefers indeed deciding at last minute where they're going rather than to have it all prepared before. It will be harder to track them down…

Erik stealing jewelry comes from Kay, and that part in the book is just hilarious: you have the Daroga going all the way to Russia to convince Erik to come to Persia, Erik saying no, him practically begging him (because if he comes back alone, he's in trouble), and at the moment where the Daroga is getting prepared to hide to avoid his punishment, Erik suddenly accepts… He's being impossible during the entire trip, and when they arrive to the Manzanderan Court, the Daroga loses Erik and when he FINALLY finds him, he's in a throne room cutting off the jewels on the Shah's peacock throne with his knife (and not putting them back after, of course). XD

Erik and his clothes… I know. I believe him so obsessed with the fact of looking good even with his disfigurement that he's much more of a fop than Raoul is XD Especially that may it be in the musical or the movie, Erik wears some very well tailored things that must cost a little fortune…

Well, going as Céleste's brother while they don't look alike at all may arise some suspicion… I don't know? And he can't pose as his cousin either since at that time, marriages between cousins were permitted. ;) (Can't I just write about them pretending to be husband and wife? It's just funnier. *out*)

Erik and Nadir are travelling in trunks… special ones Erik went to fetch in his lair. Remember that.

Erik has a very wide interpretation of the "good girl" XD Plus, Céleste *is* trying really hard to be this around him, without succeeding, and he's just telling her: "Quit trying baby, it's cute but it's no use" XD

I think Nadir has faced way worse situations than this after spending part of his life with Erik around XD So he's probably just waiting for them at the train station, taking a nap (naps are really good to fight headaches). They probably gave him an approximative hour, and he has to go and fetch them and see if everything is alright if he doesn't see them coming back…

Let's just say that in front of Raoul, Erik is not afraid of being… undelicate. Even if Céleste is around XD

Well, when I was a baby, I had green-grey eyes, lots of black hair, and I can't remember from my baby pictures if I had a squashed nose or not… But hey, we've got mini Leroux!Christine here… XD

You know, I always believed that Christine *does* love and care for Erik, but not in a romantic way. More in a father/daughter kind of way, and she does have dutiful affection for him. And now, well, she's happily married with a child, and he's seemingly on the way of finding happiness himself: so nice, naïve, kind-hearted Christine just wants to maybe start out something a bit more friendly between them. Will it be possible?...

I was hesitating between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor for Raoul, I admit it. Mainly because of the loyalty and all… but yeah, Raoul is a total Gryffindor. Christine is of course a Hufflepuff, Erik is a Slytherin because all bad boys end up there, Meg… I honestly still don't know if she's a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor, the Daroga is a Ravenclaw, so is Alexandre, and Céleste… she could be a Slytherin, but she is a bit of a Hermione Grainger kind of character and therefore a Gryffindor as well. Oh dear, those two would get along so well… I mean, once, I found on Tumblr the titles the _Harry Potter_ series would have had if they were written from Hermione's point of view: basically, they're all called: "Hermione Grainger and That Time Where I Got Two Idiots Out of a Crisis" XD

« Pratique : « Voulez-vous le mettre en loterie? Assurément, monsieur, ce sera le gros lot! » » XD


	34. Chapter 33

**A/N : So, so sorry for the long wait, guys – I've been on a bit of a writer's block for this story, and I decided to work on other stuff for a while, in the phandom, as well as soon-to-come stuff for other fandoms as well, just to see if inspiration comes back and if I just needed something else to work on to make a change. Anywho, I all hope you've had a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! **

**And wow – it's been nearly a year since I actually started this phanfic, my very first one actually. I'm so proud of myself, mainly because… I don't know, maybe I'm being too self-flattering, but for a first phanfic and it being an Erik/OC phic (and those are actually hard to write, when you think of it: creating an interesting, believable OC is hard!), I can say it's pretty decent. Good? I'll let you decide. Thankfully, I'm nearer to the end than to the beginning! So I say… now, rough estimate, this phic might have about 40 chapters. Not much more. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 33<strong>

Erik didn't seem to want to look for somewhere else to go, despite Nadir talking of it whenever he would come for a visit. Anyway, it had now occurred to Céleste that she was certainly going to stay with Raoul and Christine when they would arrive, while Erik would go all alone on his side, it would appear rather odd that she wouldn't follow him… She had thought of the possibility that he could go on a "business trip", which would be a good reason for his absence. But somehow, Céleste knew he would refuse to leave her, since for some reason (she thought with an eyeroll), he probably didn't trust Raoul enough to protect her against Soliman.

Anyway, things were as they were, and it was impossible that Erik and Raoul would accept to live under the same roof, or that Céleste could go and leave with Erik with no sort of alliance between them. In any anyway, it would mean that he would have to leave.

It pained her. She admitted it freely now, and she couldn't care less.

So now, the only way they could really get together was that they were… married.

This was awkward.

Well, not that much.

Actually, it was.

Anyway, it would take the world before he would ask such a thing. Céleste, for a moment, even laughed at the idea that perhaps it was she who was going to have to ask him… before remembering how inappropriate it was to mock marriage and its foundments.

A letter from Raoul announced that he was to arrive with Christine and Blanche next week. He even said Mme Giry was to come with him – her disappearance, of course, had been remarked, as well as Meg's, and Soliman had of course declared that she was probably the Phantom's accomplice. It was already suspected during the whole Daaé affair, only for the ballet mistress to be saved by Raoul's intervention, declaring that it was Antoinette Giry who had helped him to find the Phantom to save Christine. Alexandre was to come as well: the ballet mistress had told him firmly that he was to declare his intentions with his daughter very soon, not to say now, and so, Meg and he were now engaged. Only Reyer was to know what had happened to him: the poor man had had a heart attack when he had seen his nephew come back, and after telling him the whole story, he was somehow too nerve-racked to refuse the whole arrangement. The young Goutelin had felt extremely guilty, of course… but this was all a case of desperate measures, after all.

It was time to have a serious discussion with Erik.

Céleste despised more than anything to have to take such initiatives. It wasn't at all in her nature nor her habits, but she had now no other choice. And that it was to be with Erik didn't help at all.

She was there in the parlour, her purple dress all neat, the bottom of her skirt falling regularly on the floor, each strand of hair severely pinned and her lips tight. The only sign of her nervousness was her right hand almost twisting the fingers of her left hand – a tick she always had when she was nervous. Her governess and her mother had always tried to rip off that habit from her, claiming that her fingers would be deformed in the end and be just as bad as some worker-girl in a sewing factory. They had never succeeded, however… and Céleste could now see with derision that her her fingers still long, white and elegant.

Erik was still displaying his ever-so-annoying display of carelessness, as if he was perplexed that Céleste had something so important to tell him. Of course, he was no fool, and he knew what it was going to be all about. She had slipped in a little mention of Raoul and Christine's arrival during breakfast, though the conversation on that matter had remained sterile.

Now, the whole matter was becoming inevitable.

Céleste was now twisting her index finger, so lost in her thoughts it was only when it actually pained her that she realized the discomfort of her situation, not knowing where to start. She hated it. She hated so much that she could sometimes be at lost of words whenever Erik was involved.

She finally cleared her throat, as she felt his gaze falling heavily on her, this, somehow, instead of intimidating her, giving her an idea how to start all this.

"I think you can guess what this is going to be all about."

Erik nodded slowly, but said nothing. Céleste sighed heavily.

"Erik…" This wasn't going to work. It was time to be a bit more direct, even if it was unsuitable. "Erik, it cannot go on like this. Raoul obviously wants you to find somewhere else to live while I'm to stay here, but if you still linger around Venice, it will seem… strange. We are passing as husband and wife, after all… And obviously, you're determined to stick to me," she said with a hint of irony. Erik rolled his eyes with a humorless smirk.

"I thought of checking on you from afar. My speciality, I guess. But you wouldn't appreciate it, and neither would your brother if I was to sneak in the house at night, especially."

Silence installed itself again. Until a certain moment, Céleste retained herself from screaming. For God's sake, what did Erik think of when it came to the future? Did he have any plan? Any purpose?

Of course he didn't.

He just went through life, despising it, for he had never found any sort of pleasure in it, just caring about his survival…

And she…

How did he think of her?

She wasn't even sure.

She knew, despite all her modesty, that he certainly wanted her, somehow. She also knew she was the only person who had actually agreed to kiss and touch him of her own free will, and that he was thankful for that (well, thankful was quite a euphemism in the context!). But besides that…

Did he love her?

He did. Certainly.

In the context, the question was rather: was Erik really capable of loving someone in a sane way?

Sane. Céleste innerly scoffed at the term.

"Oh. I see where you're going to."

Céleste suddenly lifted up her head as Erik suddenly spoke, her eyes so wide it was comical.

"Don't look at me like that. You just wanted to remind me of something I should have done probably weeks ago."

Céleste nodded like a sleepwalker, not quite conscious of what she was doing.

"Give me the ring."

_Bang. _

"What?"

"The ring. Give it to me."

He was dead serious. Céleste glanced at him, then at the ring, then at him again, to finally swallow a lump in her throat and pull it out with difficulty. She barely remarked her body trembling as she got up and gave the ring back to Erik. He did, of course.

She sat back, took a deep breath without noticing it, and replaced her hands on her lap, lowering her head.

She was seemingly calm.

But now, she was boiling from the inside.

"Why are you toying with me?" she asked in a low voice.

She heard no answer. And she refused to look at Erik, may it be just a glance.

"Perhaps the only experience you have with women were all those loose ones you could see every day in the opera and those you could easily manipulate, monsieur," she started, her voice trying to keep the same volume not to alert anyone around, not caring about the potential consequences of her indirect yet obvious mention of Christine. "If you want anything to do with me, don't think I'm some puppet you can command to every one of your moods and caprices. You think I forgot who you are? You think I forgot who I am? You're wrong. And I can't believe I've been clinging to all this until now, because I know it's going to be so painful in the end!"

She felt like sobbing now. Sobbing, because she was somehow tired of playing the brave little girl after all those nerveracking weeks. Somehow, she knew what she wanted. Céleste wasn't one of those spoiled rich girls who had had everything they had ever wanted and who believed that their world had shattered when they were refused one of their whims. Her own desires had been inaccessible to a woman of her rank and connections.

And now…

For Erik, it usually took even less for him to back away by fear of getting hurt.

In her anger, Céleste had touched many sensitive points.

There were moments where he wanted to slap her, just to make her regret what she had just implied so it would never happen again.

Of course, for him, the sensible solution would have been to just leave her there, and continue on his own business, the Chagny girl be damned.

But he couldn't do that.

Was the merciless Angel of Death becoming mild?

Somehow, Erik knew that if he turned away now, he would never have a second chance. Not when dealing with Céleste de Chagny.

He wished it wouldn't come too soon. It had all been too out of a sudden. He actually wondered if he would have had actually the courage of doing it if it wasn't for the entire situation. Probably not, if he really thought about it… but he preferred shoving that not-so glorious thought about himself away.

But now, as he paid closer attention to her, he was able to see her lips quivering, as if she was retaining herself from crying. This disturbed him more than anything else. To him, Céleste never cried for _anything_. Never.

He was ready to admit now that she was far braver than he had ever been. Always standing straight, always ready to snark back to her adversary… and he remembered with wicked pleasure that time where Soliman had promised her that he would bring back the Angel of Death's head and that she had replied that probably the opposite would happen…

But that Céleste was to cry, and because of him…

So Erik was able to care and to feel pain when others felt it.

He had a heart, after all.

And that realization was a pleasant feeling.

"You know the story of the ring I gave you?"

Céleste just shrugged to show her ignorance.

"They used to belong to Nadir and his wife… you know, he wanted to give them to his son. But he died. So… Nadir gave it to me, since he couldn't give them to his son anymore…"

Céleste's head didn't rise. But Erik could see that her lips didn't twist so much anymore.

Well, his actually useless blabbering was done now.

So, what was he supposed to do next?

Kneel. Definitely kneel. That's what they usually did, right?

Still, she refused to lift her head up. And now that he was closer, he saw that her eyes were closed tightly.

He took her hand gently, trying to get her attention that way. Finally, she did… and Erik was suddenly at lost for words.

All he could do was presenting her the ring with a very shy shadow of a smile.

And all she did was taking it back, beaming and conflicted all at the same time.

"I don't think I need to ask you the meaning of this," she said somehow playfully. "And do I need to answer?"

And Céleste, usually so stoic and posed, actually found herself actually hugging Erik tightly, and all he found to do was burying his face in her neck.

What would everyone else say?

To be honest, Céleste de Chagny couldn't care less.

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><p><strong>AN: Short chapter… So sorry, especially with the long wait… But hey. Hehehe. **

**Answers to reviews: **

**michellecarriveau: **Thank you! ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thanks! ;)

**PhantomFan01: **Thank yo so much! ;)

**EvaAuthor: **Erik and his good old dark humor XD And yup, lots of action in store… *Steven Moffat smile* You don't celebrate Halloween where you live? Mmm… is it indiscreet to ask you where you live? Just curious ;)

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Here's your virtual temple of brownies for the 200th review! *out*

Let's just say that for Christine who's going to sing at La Fenice… probably Raoul managed to convince that until she arrives at Venice, so she can settle in peace, it has to remain a secret ;)

It always makes me laugh that people portray Raoul as a music-hater who forbids Christine to sing: I mean, it's canon that he loves and supports the arts. You have that quote in Leroux, and he states in the movie that he has always been encouraged by his parents to support the arts.

Simply… when Venice comes to your mind as a destination, you go to Venice. Period. XD

You know, about the Phantom who could believe that Raoul is trying to prepare an ambush for him… I have to admit the idea never crossed my mind. It's true – but again, Céleste seems to agree to the plan, which probably isn't a solid enough reason… Mmm… And hey, it's not like Raoul is to the point he'll actually ask Erik that he should maybe get things settled with Céleste!

"So 'the first train to leave" just *happened* to be the one train that was going to Venice in any case? That *is* a coincidence!" Gee, give Erik a chance! That guy is just so jinxed!

I don't think Erik and Nadir are in the trunk all the time: probably they just wander around the wagon where all the luggage is all the time… And you know how much of a control freak Erik can be… XD

Italian is certainly one of the languages Céleste got to learn, as a proper lady… and yes, there are a few Italian people among the staff to help a bit. The ones sent by Paris are the ones in command, since they know about their masters' habits. ;)

Probably some part of her tells to herself that she should take off the wedding ring: it *does* have an important, not to say a religious significance for her, anyway… but she doesn't. ;)

Remember I mentioned Christine did nightmares. That's why she wants Raoul close. ;)

Simply, Erik is having way too much fun pretending to be Céleste's husband, and of course, she doesn't like it XD

Blanche… Come on, for someone who knows the French language, it's so easy… XD

What you've showed me from F. de l'Opéra… honestly, I'm going to bring that up every time someone says Raoul/Christine is not canon in the Leroux. Really. That was amazing indeed.

**Briopia: **Hi! Thanks for stopping by and enjoying this crazy ride! XD Anywho… well, if you've seen the 25th anniversary first, I can understand why you were initially an E/C fan… they tried all the time in it to build bridges between POTO and its sequel, Love Never Dies, making Raoul a lot less sympathetic and giving the Phantom and Christine possibilities that they *did* love each other… but in a way that it was pretty tacky and unbelievable, in my opinion. Anyway… I did go through a phase where I didn't like Christine. Well, ALW!Christine, rather. It's not that I hated her, but I didn't like her. Not because she didn't choose Erik. I understood her motivations pretty well. Simply, I found her to be pretty annoying and pointless, until the very end where she finally decided to decide of her fate on her own and being totally unselfish at the same time. I hated (and I still do) most especially the fact that so many people in the phandom just give her a spine and turn her in some feminist and forget all about her vulnerability and issues, and this most of the time just to make her a more suitable match for Erik. But then… I realized that you know, she was badass, in her own, quiet way. Of course, she doesn't level up to the other ladies in POTO, in my opinion, but anyway, I came to appreciate her a great deal as a character.

In the Leroux… I have to disagree with you, once again. I remember my first impression when I read the book was that Christine, when she was all caught up in her crap with Erik and that she saw Raoul lingering around, was that she basically went: "Great, he's my ticket out of here". But I re-read the novel again, and actually… Christine was already in love with Raoul before she even met Erik, and that was for years. So, I can't say she willingly broke Erik's heart and decided to just run after Raoul. What I like about Leroux!Christine is that she is human, and she knows what she wants: she knows that if she just goes on being the charitable angel and staying with Erik, they'll both be miserable in the end; she knows she wants to spend the rest of her life with Raoul. So she does what is the best choice. But it means of course breaking Erik's heart. It's sad, especially that none of us wants Erik to be the victim in all this. And I hate to say this, but it's the choice that brings in the less damage. And Leroux!Christine is mature enough to see and understand that.

Plus… I admit I have a bit of trouble understanding why you dislike Raoul. I mean, the poor guy just does what every sensible person would do in such a situation!

Raoul and Christine can seem like Purity-Sues to certain. I can understand why. But what's interesting is that we basically have two children forced to face a psychotic man-child… it does have a certain creepy kind of appeal, so to say…

Anywho, I'm so glad you enjoyed my phanfic and that you enjoyed my OC as well! Writing a believable OC is always hard: you have to give her a personality, flaws, like every human being has, and in a credible way. And I'm also glad you liked Christine at least in my fic… I hope to hear more of you! ;)


	35. Chapter 34

**A/N: Dear me, when was last time I updated? So, so sorry for the long wait, but after work getting crazy, writer's block, and then forcing myself to have at least another chapter well in progress before posting this, it took me quite a while. Anyway, here it is!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 34<strong>

There is always some sort of giddiness when you disobey. Most especially when you have been a good girl your entire life.

Well, it was incorrect to say that Céleste had been a good girl lately. It was actually _quite _the contrary.

Perhaps it was rather that guilty pleasure, always coming in whenever you would break the rules.

It was actually the first explanation that had come to Céleste de Chagny's mind when some sort of vertigo invaded her as she woke up that morning, her dark blue dress on a chair being the first thing which caught her eye when she glanced around the room.

She mocked herself. It was useless to try not to think of _it_ while _its_ accomplishment was so close. But everything had come so quickly. And she actually wondered, for a moment, if _it_ was actually real.

Because, well, he had his flaws, other than his disfigurement, of course.

Céleste admitted with a bit of shame that she still twitched at the thought of his deformity, trying to forget when it happened about what looked like a brain popping out at some spots on the left side of his forehead, for instance. Since then, during their days in Venice, when they were sure not to be disturbed, Céleste had managed to show off treasures of diplomacy by telling Erik that he didn't have to wear a mask when they were alone together. She didn't know, however, if it was to show him that she accepted him as he was or if it was to learn to overcome her shameful disgust. Erik had refused. And she respected his… privacy.

He had his flaws indeed. He was stubborn, and indecent just for the childish pleasure of annoying her, and impossible, and moody, and annoying, and arrogant, and funny, and actually gentle when he put an effort into it, and ridiculous, but in some sort of endearing way that gave as a result that Erik was Erik. You never knew what to expect from him… and somehow, it was probably what Céleste enjoyed the most when she was around him. Depending on the situation, of course.

At least she had actually managed to sleep that night, in a dreamless doze. And little did she know that Erik, in the room near her, had remained wide awake, trembling on his chair in some sort of puerile, blissful apathy, like a child who cannot fall asleep on Christmas Eve…

For Erik, it seemed all way too real. He had perhaps travelled the world, but he had never really learned what a normal life really was. And, he thought with a sarcastic smile, he couldn't really say, now, that all the feelings, the conflicts, the bliss coming with it was like he had always imagined it, based on the operas he had seen and which had indelibly marked his childhood.

Céleste was always there to bring him back on Earth, to remind him that she didn't always need a ghostly presence around her… well, he thought with a smirk, she had tried to make him believe she _never_ needed any sort of protection… but it sometimes proved itself to be quite the contrary.

But it didn't, however, lower her in comparison to himself. Now that he thought of it, the mere belief that Céleste was inferior to him was simply unbearable. He had believed her pointless, snobby, arrogant, a spoiled brat who had turned into an ice-queen-like lady convinced of her insignificant importance. These were all traits he had initially given to the vicomte, the coldness put aside… before realizing, in a moment of extreme lucidity, that it wasn't the case and that, somehow, though it pained him to admit it, that he was worthy of Christine.

Céleste, at the beginning, seemed to be the embodiment of everything he had once believed to hate in the vicomte. But she was so much more, especially once her icy and unkind shell was shattered. She was stubborn, and outspoken, and impossible, and annoying, and such a know-it-all, and beautiful, and kind, and teasing, and far braver than he assumed himself to be. And for some crazy reason, going against all conventions, she actually loved him.

He was thinking of Céleste, and he could have never guessed that some of the epithets he was attributing to her were actually very similar to those Céleste would attribute to him.

It was the day of their marriage.

Céleste, after dismissing the maid today for any help to get dressed, buttoned her corsage, not caring if her clothing wasn't white as it should usually be for a wedding. A white dress brought to her too many bad memories and associations, anyway. It was to be a private ceremony, and she had managed to warn a priest and get everything arranged so the wedding could be celebrated… today.

She preferred to have it done before Raoul and Christine would arrive. She felt guilty of doing so… but it had to be done now or never.

In the end, it was her choice. In the end, she had to choose between Erik and her family. Now, she just hoped they would forgive her one day. She knew Christine would always be on her side… and perhaps Raoul would maybe forgive her eventually… even if she believed that he would never totally understand her and the choices she had made.

There was after all this extract from St. Paul's epistle, which claimed that a wife or a husband had to love their future companion more than their parents. Perhaps it was applying itself at this very moment.

How dare she imagine that God could support their project in some way!

Well, it was better to forget that she hadn't really thought of what God could think of their situation, for it was rather disturbing…

And now, it was time. But neither of them was brave enough to go and knock on the other's door and announce that it was time to leave…

That, until Céleste got up, fussed almost angrily on her dress and pinched her cheeks, and headed towards Erik's room, but, before she was even able to lift her fist on the door, he had opened it brutally, making her jump.

And somehow, seeing that he was probably as nervous as she was, not to say even more, made her stronger.

"Are you ready to leave?" she asked in a firm tone.

He simply nodded like a shy child. And this time, Céleste couldn't help but beam.

"Remember," she added, in a tone so soft she was surprised of it, "we have to behave as if nothing will happen."

The glare Erik gave her was priceless, as it was a mix of exasperation, joy, anger and excitement. And this time, she couldn't help but laugh wholeheartedly, feeling all remaining pressure fade away.

The ceremony was quick and private, the priest Céleste had chosen discreet, and their wedding certificate delivered to them without mishaps of any kind. And they had remained calm as well, as if they were unconscious of what was happening to them. And so they said "I do", they exchanged their alliances, they were made husband and wife before God and men as if they were in some sort of blur, forgetting the usual solemnity of such a ritual.

The ride back in the carriage was silent as well. But this time, Céleste was surprised that Erik, who had sat just beside her, actually discreetly reached out for her hand, clutching it softly, looking straight in front of him as if he was trying to convince himself that it was _real_.

For the rest of the day, they had to act as if nothing special had happened, of course.

When night came, however, things were different. _Very_ different.

Céleste had laid down on her bed, all clad in her nightgown and her hair braided, but she couldn't go to sleep.

She was thinking of improper things.

But now, she was a married woman. And it wasn't a sin, right?

The mere thought that she could share a bed with Erik had crossed her mind, before shoving it away before reminding herself that now, it was _fine_.

She realized now how much she _wanted it_.

She did what she usually did when she had some embarrassing or inappropriate thought. She scorned herself.

But then she mused that this time, she had no reason of doing so. They were married, after all!

They were married.

That sentence actually sounded good.

She headed towards the door, before realizing what she was actually doing and how audacious – no, audacious was too mild of a word for what she was planning to do – she was by just knocking on Erik's door and… what was she going to say after that?

But, come to think about it, what was Erik doing, at this moment? Or what was he thinking of, to be more precise?

The same thing, probably. Perhaps even more deeply than she did. Céleste didn't even dare to imagine any more of it.

She finally got out, and made her way in the corridor, before she saw Erik coming out of his room and heading towards her, before stopping as he finally seemed to see her.

"Um… did you… want to ask me something?" Céleste asked tentatively.

Stupid question. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Yes. I actually did."

Céleste didn't dare to glance at Erik. His tone was neutral, which made everything so confusing.

But then, she felt that someone had softly seized a loose lock of her hair.

She raised her eyes, to see that that strand was very near Erik's mouth, as if he was kissing it. And his face was deadly serious and solemn. He suddenly let go of her hair, now hesitant, as if he was unconsciously waiting for her consent.

In a wordless reply, she got on her tiptoes in order for their eyes to be at the same level, and they both closed them as she leaned her forehead on his.

After a while, when they reopened them, they glanced at each other. And for a moment, if there was a witness, he could have sworn they were going to devor each other.

Their mouths collided, and she had thrown her arms around his neck, and his hands, after untying her braid and leaving her hair loose and falling freely on her shoulders and her back, they were slipping under her nightgown, trembling, but taking more and more assurance by the second.

In the end, as a moan similar to the growl of a lioness escaped her throat, to which he answered as well in the same way, and it seemed like he finally realized where they were, and, without her loosing the grip he had on her like the grip she had on him, he carried her to his bedroom.

Away with everything that had controlled their lives for as long as they could remember. Tonight was their wedding night, after all.

* * *

><p>Erik never slept much. It was the result of a long, harsh training he had done since he was a child. Otherwise, he would do nightmares. And since there was no one to comfort him whenever it happened, the best (and only) solution he had found was to stay awake as much as possible. He would eventually fall asleep, of course, his fatigue being so grand that his slumber was very much dreamless.<p>

The last night, however, was different. He didn't recall a time where he had rested so soundly, and how waking up was that pleasant and took such a long time. He enjoyed the feeling of the soft, warm sheets all wrapped up around his feet, the pillow's softness, and let a deep breath come out, to feel soon after the tickle of someone else's hair on his neck.

He finally opened his eyes, blinking a bit since they were still unused to the light pouring in the room. Someone had opened the curtains. He grinned, sleepily though, since he still felt a bit numb. He knew too well who had pulled them open, of course. And for a moment, he enjoyed the feeling of the sun's rays dancing on his face. (Well, the right side. The left side was still covered with the mask. During… well, everything, he had preferred keeping it on. Without it, he had the intuition he would feel like a fish out of the water. Céleste did not even said anything close to the subject.) It had taken a couple of weeks in Venice for him to become totally and utterly addicted to the sun, its light and its warmth, to the point he sometimes wondered how he had managed to live without it for so long.

He finally turned to his wife, who was sitting in the bed just beside him, her head lowered towards him, her long hair caressing his face. She was smiling. And he couldn't remember her being more beautiful than now.

"Good morning, husband," she had whispered, with a hint of mischief in her voice, her cheeks exhibiting the slightest shade of pink.

And, not only her greeting had definitely awoken him, but the words had somehow given him a burst of joyful liveliness, as he practically jumped up on her and kissed her soundly on her lips, not even totally realizing what he was doing. Céleste was taken aback, at first, but it didn't take long before she was replying to his kiss.

"Well, it looks as you slept well," she finally managed to say, looking suddenly very casual and paying close attention to her fingernails. "You were snoring."

"Was I?" Erik lifted a brow, but his green eyes were glimmering with malice.

"Yes. And quite loudly, for an Opera Ghost!" she carried on in the same way.

"Louder than Nadir?"

"Yes, much louder than Monsieur Khan! It's a good thing the sun was up when you woke me up with that… disharmony!" Her looks were still as informal as before… well, it was clear now that she was struggling to keep the corners of her mouth from going too high.

"Why, how dare you!" As swiftly as a feline, he was now sitting behind her, grabbing her by the waist and burying his face in her neck and her shoulder, his quick breathing tickling her skin. "Now," he continued. "What am I to do with you, now that you are at my mercy?"

"Nothing much. We're married."

"Well, you know an alliance's significance, right? It's what they used to mark when someone was a slave."

"Well, you know what Saint Paul said on the subject? He did say that a wife must obey to her husband, but he also said something about men respecting their spouses!"

Céleste's hand flew to her mouth, as she realized the inappropriate use she had made with the Epistles. But Erik, who had lost nothing of it, drew out an utterly feral smile before whispering in her ear, similar to the Tempter trying to drag some unfortunate soul to sin and damnation: "Amen!"

"Erik!"

But her scowls, while she was convulsing with laughter she was trying to shove it away, were promptly buried by the sheets Erik drew over them both.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I apologize for the fluff. No, I don't, actually. Sorry. XD **

**Please do not ask me anything about the babies. I'm not there yet, for God's sake. *out***

**Answers to guest reviews: **

**lydia: **Thank you!


	36. Chapter 35

**A/N: Once again, been a while, hey? Anywho, I apologize if I haven't updated this story earlier, but let's just say college is a b**** and I've also been working on my other phanfiction in progress. If you haven't checked it out... well do it. (no, no, I'm not doing self-promotion) I won't be updating it as long as _Let It Go_ isn't finished, since I really want this little jewel (or trash, whatever) to be done so I can focus solely on _The Dragons' Song_. In the meantime, well, for the Mizzies out there that might be reading, I will publish a Les Mis fic very soon! Let's just say that I think I need to write something else than POTO for a change (though I'm still desperately obsessed with POTO, don't worry (or not)), so maybe in... well, give a week, and maybe you'll see a nice little medieval AU Eponine/Enjolras story come out. (And Cosette. Lots of Cosette. Love that girl.) **

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><p><strong>Chapter 35<strong>

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Raoul shrugged, slightly exasperated. "It's the only time where I can speak to you without anyone else witnessing. And frankly, I didn't know how you would react. I spent the last week preparing myself to admit it all to you like if I was preparing some diplomatic speech for the Emperor of Austria-Hungrary. I had to, anyway. It isn't really easy to admit that your sister has willingly fled away with the Phantom of the Opera and that you helped them, you know."

"It is kind of you that you decided to choose your words carefully," the comte replied, in a sarcastic way Raoul was somehow painfully reminded of Céleste. "And now, what do you think we'll do?"

Raoul remained in some sort of vacant silence for a while.

"Philippe, please… don't tell me you want her with Soliman…"

"Of course not! Who do you think I am? But let's just say I was setting my hopes on her for some alliance… with you marrying some opera singer with a suspicious reputation…"

Philippe had not yet realized that, during that moment where his exasperation had taken control of his usual maintain, he had spoken too much. Raoul was already up on his feet, his figure similar to a lion defending his lioness, the boyishness usually present in his features suddenly all gone and even startling Philippe for a while. For a moment, he had believed to be in front of a younger look-alike of their deceased father. But he quickly gained back his confidence.

"Oh, really, Raoul, do you seriously think that without the whole affair that lead to the Opera house being burned, I would have accepted? Nonsense. I would have tolerated that Christine would have become your mistress, and nothing more. Céleste would have hurled for the sake of virtue and morality, of course, but I wouldn't have cared if that was the only reason. But with the fire, and the way Christine and you clung to each other like the two fools you were, I knew I could now do nothing to forbid you from marrying. My consolation is that she knows how to behave, and that she is rather pleasant. You are lucky that it happened. Now, don't you get mad at me."

Raoul was looking at the ground now. There was only a slight twitch in his lips, coming back then and now sporadically, as if it took everything so he could remain calm.

"Anyway, I've always been the darling child, haven't I? The one you could always agree to every whim, except one. It was definitely out of the question that I keep any sort of contact with a violinist's daughter, especially when she is orphaned…"

"Why are you complaining now? You've succeeded. And now that you've decided to install in Venice with your wife and child, you can do whatever you want."

"And… Céleste?" Raoul dared to ask.

Philippe let out an humorless chuckle. "To this point, I actually think it's better for everyone to believe she's either dead or that she has retired in a convent. Why not the Carmelites!"

Silence installed itself once again.

"You know what?" Raoul finally let out. "Maybe _you_ should get married. Why should it be me? Why should it be Céleste?"

For a moment, the youngest child of the de Chagny family gazed into the eldest's eyes. He regretted immediately everything he had told him during the last hour. He had now seen how tired and even… old Philippe suddenly appeared to him.

Their family was old-fashioned and conservative. And now, Raoul only wished it would all change. He was a wide-eyed idealist to his core. But even him knew it was impossible, for the roots were too deeply plunged into the earth of history and religion for them to revolutionize what seemed to be part of their identity.

"Philippe… I just don't want you to be left alone here all by yourself. But we have to let Céleste go."

He ignored his elder brother's smirk and continued.

"Believe me, I had trouble accepting it all myself. I think I still do. But she is still our sister, isn't she? I can't pretend she never existed. She's the one who helped you to raise me when Mère and Père passed away, remember? She's the one you would turn to when it came to more delicate matters, because you knew you could trust her judgement. Just come with us."

"And Soliman?"

"Oh, for God's sake, send him to Hell!" This time, Philippe could not help but smile upon his little brother's impulsivity. "It's been almost a month since her kidnapping. There is very little hope that we might find her now, at least to society's eyes."

"And what about his threats?"

"We'll be in Italy, Philippe, and far away from France. And the carnival will be just about to start when we'll arrive."

"This looks awfully lot like a forced exile, Raoul, especially that Soliman blackmailed us with revealing our royalist activities. I think the French Revolution was nearly a century ago."

"And I'm not leaving you behind like the old bachelor you are. You'll take bad habits if I let that happen."

Philippe finally laughed for the first time in weeks. "Why not, and let's cross the borders while crying "Hail to Henri, Fifth of his name, King of France and of Navarre, and death to Buonaparte!" We'll never be forgotten, and they'll consider us heroes of the royalist party. That might help one day."

The bell for the mail suddenly rang. Both brothers immediately got up and rushed in the most undignified way to the entrance hall. Raoul ripped off the letters from the valet's hands, muttering a word of excuse and of gratitude before rushing back with Philippe, trailing behind and feeling somehow useless.

"There's something from Céleste," Raoul finally panted.

"Just open it already!"

He quickly obeyed, and skimmed through his sister's tidy handwriting while Philippe was peeking over his little brother's shoulder, and the image, without the context, could have been comical since his attitude did resemble one of a way too curious child.

They both stopped abruptly, holding their breath, and stared at each other.

"So… they're married." Raoul finally said.

Philippe stayed quiet.

"But I saw that one coming anyway," the vicomte continued, ignoring his brother's nasty glare.

"So are we to just go there and welcome… _him_ with open arms?" the comte finally asked, almost expressionless.

"Frankly, I don't know if I'll be able to do that myself. But it was bound to happen a day or another. You know how Céleste is. She has fixed herself on him, and of her own free will. And I think nothing could have made her turn away. Anyway… she knows what she is doing, right? She always did."

Philippe simply nodded with a tired smile. "I believe she does. But trust me, if I have one single doubt about her happiness, I'll be merciless with him."

Raoul sighed. "So will I, Philippe. But I like to believe it'll never happen. Let's just hope I'm not mistaking."

* * *

><p>"So, why have you been dragging that costume I had for the New Year Masquerade everywhere?"<p>

Erik smirked. "Well, the Masquerade stopped quite abruptly for both of us. You didn't have much of a chance to wear that dress. You have no idea how much I spent for it."

"Oh, I understand. Especially with that twenty-thousand-franc monthly salary you had."

"Now…" Erik was just about to give an acid remark, before seeing the mischievous glimmer in Céleste's eyes. He gave an exaggerated grin instead. "It would be lovely in the carnival, hmm?"

"Perhaps you could come out with something a bit more original, this time? I mean, all you had was a plain suit. It was disappointing, you know."

"If I had just set my creativity free, dearest, everyone would have recognized me."

"Of course, but of course. Well, expect me to set the bar high for you for this carnival."

"Challenge accepted, my lady. Thou art merciless."

"Well, I'm the Snow Queen, what did you expect? I have a black heart."

"How disappointing of a Christian soul such as you."

"Don't you start lecturing me, Monsieur le Fantôme. I've heard quite a few of the legends surrounding the fearsome Phantom of the Opera. Help me finish unpacking your things instead."

"Why?"

"Because it will keep you busy. For God's sake, you sound like Raoul when he was younger and we would arrive in Perros and he said he was too tired to help me!"

Erik groaned and glanced elsewhere, visibly unpleased with the comparison. However, Céleste's remark was effective, as he finally stretched like some lazy feline, regretting leaving the rays of the sun shining on him, and got up from his chair and starting throwing his shirts messily on the bed, while she sighed and shook her head half in discouragement, half in amusement.

During their honeymoon days, they had examined in the newspaper all the advertisements on houses for sale in Venice, before afterwards wandering around the city to see at first their exterior and, if it had them interested enough, eventually visiting them. They had fixed their choice on one sold with furniture included, which used to belong to a family who had ended up bankrupt… a modest house. Well, the house was modest in Erik's point of view. Céleste said it was just fine for their needs and ranking (though to be frank, Erik had trouble understanding the latter), but despite his unusual life experience, he had assumed that their future home was actually rather impressive according to standards. He wasn't sure, anyway. Erik really wasn't the best judge in such a context, so to say. His only criteria, actually, was all about large windows, allowing in as much light as possible. And also a room which had decent acoustics and would provide as a nice place to play his music. Well, _their_ music, now that Céleste was there.

The mere thought of it was the most pleasant he had experienced in his life.

Anyway, he had plans. That town-house wouldn't remain in that state, and designs were starting to draw themselves in his mind.

The future was hopeful.

But there was still Soliman's shadow above them, and Erik could only hope that they had escaped him for good.

* * *

><p>Christine, Raoul and Blanche, along with the Girys and Alexandre, had arrived about half a week after Céleste and Erik had installed in their new home. Philippe hadn't followed them for now, since he was still needed in Paris to arrange some family business before joining them, in fear it would look too suspicious. Soliman, officially, had announced he was to leave Paris, claiming he needed to find some place which wouldn't remind him of the tragic ending of his love. And everyone hoped he would be as far away as possible from Italy.<p>

Of course, Céleste had not delayed to go and visit her brother and sister-in-law. This time, of course, Erik preferred not accompanying her, and she judged it was certainly wise to do so.

The baby had grown quite a bit since the last time Céleste had seen her. Her hair had grown, showing a dirty blonde shade like her father and as curled as her mother's. In the first fifteen minutes of the visit, she spent her time staring at her tiny fists and, for the rest of it, slept peacefully in the cradle which was installed in the living room for now.

Raoul had started, of course, by asking prudent questions about her welfare, but Céleste had quickly understood the allusions and answered to all them positively and with a beaming smile, while Meg couldn't help but glance playfully at Christine, making both of them stifle their giggles. Raoul turned to them, annoyed, before showing himself incapable of cracking a smile himself.

At a moment where the three girls were alone, the conversation, of course, thanks to Meg, led to chat about the soon-to-come Venice carnival.

"You'll have to help me find a good costume for Christine," the petite blonde chirped. "All she thinks about is the wonderful time she's going to spend with Raoul. But you know – she has to find something significant to wear, right?"

Christine sighed, glancing at her friend with an indecipherable smile on her lips, while Meg would shrug cheekily. "And we'll have to think of yours too!" The ballerina continued, clapping in her hands. "Though I think Erik probably thought of something…"

Christine and Céleste both looked at Meg in surprise because of how she had used Erik's name. But Meg didn't seem intimidated one bit. She had learned the fearsome Phantom of the Opera's name, she was therefore not going to keep on calling him "Monsieur le Fantôme", especially when he had no Opera house to haunt anymore…

"He did, actually," said Céleste. "He got a Snow Queen gown."

Both Christine and Meg's eyes lit.

"Oh, it's perfect!" the petite blonde chirped. "And… and… I can just see that with a tiara shaped like a snowflake!"

"I don't have a tiara, actually…"

"Well, we'll have to find one! We have two weeks for that, and we'll have to hurry! I just have to convince Alexandre to be Puss in Boots while I'll be the White Cat, you know, the duo from _Sleeping Beauty_, and…"

Meg was not able to finish, since Céleste and Christine were laughing whole-heartedly at the mental picture of Alexandre Goutelin disguised as a rather grumpy Puss in Boots.

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><p><strong>AN: You know the drill: reviews? **


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